


Challenge Three: Kink Grab Bag

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 82,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week three of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/504.html">FAQ</a><br/> on LJ</p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/7082.html">Voting Post</a>!</p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (with warnings)

**1.**  
 **Warnings: Underage sex.**  
????/Jackson

The cold rain and my stern insistence it was over had done nothing to convince him to stay away. I watched him through the window, hunched over in his rain-drenched hoodie, fisting the key he wore around his neck. The key I’d told him to leave on the cabin’s doorstep a fortnight before.

It had to end. There was too much at risk, the consequences grim if I was caught with someone less than half my own age. A teenager. 

Lightning flashed and he cringed as if slapped. With a grimace I yanked the door open. His head shot up and the hope on his face stabbed through me as surely had an arrow found its mark. My glare did nothing but urge him forward and he rushed in, a mumbled “thanks” barely caught.

I closed the door. He stood dripping onto the pinewood, looking the part of drenched puppy he played unexpectedly well. Before he could peel his hoodie off I raised a hand. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiled. Strange on a face usually bearing a scowl. “I know you said not to but I had to see you again.” 

He dropped his gaze when faced with my glare but then raised his chin, defiant and proud as only he was capable. He smelled of rain and expensive cologne, the bulge in his jeans full of promise.

My cock lurched in response, a rush of heat and pure fucking want punching me in the groin and making my ass ache. I tried to hide my reaction but knew by the quickly-shielded victory in his eyes that he’d seen. 

I glanced at the chain around his neck. “Give me the key.” 

The shattered look was back. The reluctance as he obeyed restored the balance, putting it back into my hands. I slid the chain around my neck. It was cold, bitterly so, reminding me of my promise: _this is the last time._

I grabbed him, whirling him around and pushing him against the door. His mouth met mine and I devoured him, hot tongues clashing as the fierce hold I’d held these past weeks gave way. His urgency sent fire through me and I stripped him, drenched clothes tossed aside with my own joining thereafter, and soon his naked body was once again pressed against the door.  
I grappled him with my hands, smashing my hard and weeping cock against his own. It throbbed against me, each pulse driving me mad with the need to devour him. 

So young, so perfect, every exquisite muscle beautifully defined... I pushed the keen awareness of my own less firm, less hard body aside, the persistent _why do you want me, I’m so fucking old_ flashing unbidden in my mind. 

I grew angry then. “This is why,” I muttered against his mouth and he did not question my words, knowing how I warred internally with this question.

Instead he answered by grabbing my cock and balls in his huge, strong hand, leaving me gasping as he brought me to my knees with each hard stroke. 

He joined me on the floor, covering my body with his. He smiled, the happiness on his face oddly passionate. We'd been here before, he and I. He glanced at the key round my neck but said nothing.

I lifted my legs and he slid between them, panting, his skin slick and warm, his cock weeping with readiness. Without preamble he slid his hands under my knees, pushed them up and plunged into me. 

My scream was primal as a wolf’s. 

I canted my head back, a cry of neediness that brought me no shame exploding from my lips. So masterful, my young warrior. His cock stroked into me, faster and harder, too damn big and splitting me apart but I loved it, fucking loved it, his face a grimace of determination as he took me as only he could.

Reaching between my legs I grabbed my cock, wet and swollen and aching for release. The floor beneath me was cold and hard and unforgiving, but the pleasure as he fucked me and I pumped my cock hard, gritting into it, chased all my pains and doubts and determination to end this away. 

His explosion inside me came then, hot and impossibly mind-blowing, star-defying. I knew as I joined him, my come mingling with his, that I was lost.

“Jackson.” 

He hesitated, then looked at me, wariness turning to triumph as I slid the key back over his head. 

* * *

**2.**  
 **Warnings:** Daddy kink, incestuous overtones, very little prep

 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Gender Roleplay

 **Pairing:** Allison/Lydia

It started out innocently enough. A friendly shoulder squeeze here, a hug there, and excessive cuddling during movie nights. After all physical affection between friends, especially female friends, was not exactly unusual as per the usual societal standards. The night Lydia found Allison beneath her window calling up to her though she couldn’t help but become suspicious of herself.

The night they were celebrating surviving their relationships, for being that much stronger for all shit they’ve been through, and Allison gave her a celebratory smack on the ass the truth of the matter rang like a clarion bell in her mind. Lydia broke it down.

_Curiosity._

_Interest._

_Physical attraction._

_Uncontrollable reaction._

It was an unexpected development.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Another floral skirt.” Lydia sighed, it was maddening. At least there were no flowers in her hair this time. Though the giggling was excessive, and really? Was it absolutely necessary to act that coy? Harris had decided to be an ass, one little “episode” and Lydia was suddenly a damsel in distress he wouldn’t stop fawning over, the idiot. It was annoying and vaguely creepy, damn him. She should've put a stop to it sooner and whatever Allison was trying to do though was not helping. So Lydia had no choice but to go and help herself. The crowd even parted for her predatory stalk, _as they should._

The poor guy never knew what hit him and just like that Lydia was back on top. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Allison's hair was pulled back into a french braid, Lydia liked that.

“Welcome back Ms. Martin!” She dimpled at her when they got back to the house after school. Mr. Argent was at some sort of work meeting so they had the place to themselves.

“Look, I adore you but that skirt is absolutely ridiculous.” Lydia announced as she breezily moved past her to sit primly at the edge of the bed. Allison simply raised an eyebrow in response and disappeared down the hall. Lydia was carefully re-applying her lipgloss when Allison came back fifteen minutes later dressed to the nines.

Lydia felt her breath catch.

She wore a crisp white dress with a blue windsor tie and fitted vest. Sleek black dress pants emphasized the slender curve of her hips and led down to black silk dress socks. Allison’s walked forward, hands in pockets and a somewhat serious expression on her face. Her walk was more of a strut, completely different from her everyday sway.

Lydia froze. They’d never dived into it this quickly before.

Allison stopped in front of her, gently removed the gloss from her hands. “Hey there gorgeous.” She lovingly stroked Lydia’s cheek, swiped a thumb across her lips to catch the color there. “You did so well in school today. I'm very proud of you.” She brought her thumb up to suck the flavor off with a satisfied hum. Lydia couldn’t blink, suddenly felt her body flush hot as she allowed herself to be eased backward and further up on the bed.

“Hmmm yes, that’s my girl.” Allison grinned, pleased as she slid Lydia’s panties off.

“I do try.” Lydia murmured archly, voice husky with anticipation.

Allison frowned. “You’ll do more than try.” She huffed, grabbed her by the nape of the neck and pulled her up into a kiss as she slid smoothly between her legs. “My girl is the fucking star.” She snarled hungrily against Lydia’s mouth, palming the weight of her breast and pressing her into the mattress. Allison doesn’t curse, never uses foul language, but...

“ _Daddy--!_ ” Lydia groaned, abruptly aware of how cool the air felt against thighs, of how many layers they both were wearing.

“That’s right beautiful.” Allison purred, allowing her to fall back onto the mattress. “Hike your skirt up for me baby.” Lydia did as she was bid, breath catching as Allison opened her slacks to pull out her dick. It was thick, of the best quality silicone, and gleamed wetly as it was slicked up.

“Good girl.” Allison praised, caught her by the hips and pulled her close with surprising strength. Lydia was breathing faster, whining as slender fingers gave her the barest amount of lubed coverage before she was pressing forward. Fingers biting into the swell of ass as Allison pulled her up onto her dick.

It burned, it **ached**. It was _so. fucking. good._

“Good girl.” Allison panted, hips working in tight, vicious circles. “Good girl!”

Lydia fought, thrashed, and came screaming.

“ _Yes daddy! **Yes!**_ ” 

* * *

**3.**  
 **Warnings:** Double Penetration  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Felching  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Jackson/Isaac

This was something that happened in questionable porn, not real life. Only his life was a sci-fi special with a hint of Supernatural, and it wasn’t like Jackson didn’t look like any of a million twinky porn stars. It was when Isaac started thinking of Derek in terms of a Leather Daddy that the whole complicated simile fell apart. 

That breathless little whine might as well be a porno, Isaac held Jackson against his chest, one hand curled possessively around the wing of his shoulder-blade the other sliding down Jackson’s lower back stopping him from wriggling. Isaac hummed against Jackson’s cheek mouthing over the sharp jut of bone. His fingers bumped into Derek’s—two, no three- fingers deep in Jackson’s ass. 

Isaac could imagine it perfectly, the slick shine of lube, Jackson’s thighs spread across Isaac’s hips, and the raw skin of his hole as Derek forced himself deeper. Felt saliva flood his mouth picturing it, he nosed his way down the curves of Jackson’s face until Jackson pressed their mouths together. Jackson kissed like he needed it to stop from crawling out of his skin. 

“Like this.” Derek muttered, wet hand grabbing Isaac’s. 

Jackson pulled away from his mouth, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth, eyes unfocused and blown completely wide. “F _u_ ck.” He hissed, drawing the vowel sound out obscenely. It was tight, Derek’s thick knuckles sliding against his own fingers until they were both wedged inside and pressing Jakson open. 

“Another.” 

Jackson made an aborted whimpering sound low in his chest and pushed his face under Isaac’s chin. God there was lube _everywhere_ , he had to be dripping with it, but it did mean the slide of another finger into Jackson’s ass was slick. He had to force his middle finger into the tight press. 

It was a bit like holding hands with Derek, and a whole lot not like it either. Their fingers were tangled; hard not to be when squeezed so close. Jackson mouthing blindingly at Isaac’s throat to muffle the sounds he would get all pissy about being teased about later. Right now he kept whining while Derek fucked him open.

“Haaa.” Isaac breathed against Jackson’s hair as he slide his cock home, looser now than usual. Derek didn’t give Jackson very long to adjust, just pushed his fingers back inside. They both jolted at that, Isaac at the sudden friction and Jackson because he was being opened wider than he had ever been before. Jackson swore pitifully, wide-eyed-Bambi stare aimed at Isaac. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” his words coming out shuddery and less mocking than he intended. 

Jackson bit him.

Jackson dug his teeth in when Derek lined up his cock. Isaac had never felt anything like it, and probably never would again. The hot, wet, head sliding along the underside of his own dick. There wasn’t room for two, but he made them fit, pressed up against each other while Jackson struggled to breathe properly. 

Derek did give them time to relax this time, fingers tangled with Isaac’s where they were pressed to the tight, tense lines of Jackson’s waist. Not that it helped any, Isaac came helplessly the moment Derek started to move, groaning and curling his toes in the blanket. Left him panting with Derek giving him a look over one of Jackson’s shoulders that seemed a bit like pride. He lay there, sensitive and moaning while Derek fucked Jackson, pressing the sharp jut of Isaac’s hip bones into Jackson’s thighs. 

Derek came inside of Jackson, so very beautiful with his head tossed back and mouth open. 

Jackson was full of come, theirs all mixed together and just beginning to leak out of his stretched hole, so Isaac licked it up. It was okay as long as he didn’t think about it too deeply, it was when he actually thought beyond the startled almost pained sounds that Jackson made that it got a little weird. Derek rumbled silent approval, threading his messy hands in Isaac’s hair and holding him in place. He licked up the rest of the lube taste, pushing deeper. He ate Jackson out like a bitch, mouthing and sucking at him until he was almost crying, fisting the sheets and pushing back against his mouth. 

When he was finally finished mouth wet with saliva and almost hard again just from the taste of himself and Derek, Derek grabbed him again kissing him. Jackson made a muffled, little fucked-out sound from the bed. 

* * *

**4.**  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Clothes sharing, Gender roleplay, Pegging  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek, Female!Stiles

 

“Derek.” Stiles breathed out slowly, her voice caught in her throat as she stared at her boyfriend lounging in their bed.  


“Stiles.” Derek greeted back, all calm and cool expect for the red flush that tinted his face and ears. She stared wide-eyed for a second more before letting her eyes roam his body.  


He was wearing her red satin lingerie that Lydia had bought her for her last birthday, Stiles had never worn them, mostly because it was kind of embarrassing and Derek had never really gave her any inclination that he would prefer her to wear sexy underwear to bed.  


Well, they were being worned now, and Derek was the one wearing them.   


“Is it my birthday?!” Stiles squeaked, her blood pumping roughly through her veins and she could already feel herself soaking her panties with her want.  


“No…” Derek moaned out and before she could say anything else her eyes caught something she had missed before.  


“Is that-?! Is that my vibrator?!”  


“Stiles stop asking questions and get over here!” Derek growled out and twisted his legs apart, so that she could see clearly her favorite toy inside of him.  


She was on the bed faster then a business man on the last cup of coffee.  


“Are you my bitch today Derek?” Stiles whispered and quickly undressed, she leaned forward and tongued the peaked nipple in front of her. “Have you been a bad girl today? Do you need to be punished.”  


“Yeeeessss.” Derek hissed out. “I’ve been a whore and I need you to show me how it’s done, fuck me deep and raw and show me.”  


“I can do that.” Stiles swallowed and carefully reached out so she could pull out the large strap-on that was partially hidden under a pillow, she quickly strapped it on and removed the vibrator from Derek’s already abused and redden hole. She carefully moved the garter belt straps so that were out of her way.  


“I can fuck you, show you who the real woman of this relationship is, I can fuck you so raw that you’ll be walking funny for days. Derek—fuck.”  


“Yes please!!” Derek cried out, he ripped the panties that were still ridding his lower legs off of him and spread as wide as he could. “Please Stiles!”  


“That’s my girl.” Stiles breathed and smirked widely as she entered her boyfriend in one fell sweep.

* * *

**5.**  
 **Warnings:** panic attack  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** clothes sharing  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/hand, Derek/Stiles

Stiles knees give out and he slides down the wall, falls on his ass. His shirt is soaked, sodden with blood, tacky against his skin. Not his blood, someone else’s, but it’s all over him, smeared on his hands, caked in his hair. His chest tightens and he tangles stained fingers in his shirt, tries to draw in air. Panic overwhelms him, his breath reduced to something reedy and thin. The edges of his vision blacken, and he shakes, sucks uselessly for air, his lungs aching. 

Suddenly, Derek is in front of him, filling up Stiles’ space, asking Stiles if he is alright. 

Stiles tugs weakly at his collar, the wet fabric clinging to him, and he can’t _breathe_.

Derek looks him over. Claws out, he shreds Stiles’ shirt, pulls it off him. Stiles shivers, clutches at his arms. Derek shrugs out of his Henley, maneuvers Stiles’ jerky limbs into it. It’s warm, soft and smells like Derek and it surrounds him. It _helps_ and Stiles drags in a stuttered breath. 

Derek spreads a large human hand against Stiles’ chest.

“Breathe,” he says. 

Stiles does. 

-

Stiles puts the shirt in his backpack to take to school and give to Isaac. He didn’t wash it, but he doesn’t think Derek will care. 

But Stiles has a bad day. He’s exhausted, clumsy, and a disaster in class. Harris stands over him, mocking him, humiliating him, wagging a finger and Stiles’ hands shake, his breaths shorten. Stiles grasps his pencil hard. It snaps between his fingers. He shoves a hand into his bag to find another and his knuckles brush the worn fabric of Derek’s shirt. 

Stiles doesn’t know why but he clutches it, twines his fingers in the scratchy-soft fabric, and holds on. He remembers how Derek pressed his hand to Stiles’ chest, took care of him even though Stiles was freaking out. It comforts him, calms him, and Stiles ducks his head, focuses on his schoolwork. 

He doesn’t give the shirt to Isaac.

-

The shirt ends up under his pillow. 

Sometimes at night, when Stiles’ dreams are filled with screams and death and werewolves baying at the moon, and he wakes in a cold sweat, he slides his hand under the pillow and fingers the shirt. He pulls out a sleeve, rubs his cheek against it, and inhales the earthy scent of Derek. It’s soothing. 

-

Of course Stiles’ brain would conflate security with arousal. 

Stiles has his face planted in the shirt, panting from nightmares, and he remembers how Derek’s muscles played underneath it, how the gray fabric stretched across his chest. He remembers Derek looking at him, concerned, how his eyes had tracked Stiles’ every movement. He remembers the encompassing warmth from Derek’s body heat as Derek draped the shirt over him. He remembers Derek’s hands on him, his grip tight, as Derek guided him to the Jeep. 

Stiles shudders.

Stiles’ dick is hard in his pajamas. He strips off his own shirt, lays the Henley across his chest and shoves a hand into his pants, wrapping his fingers around his cock. He sighs in relief and arches, the shirt sliding over his skin. 

Stiles takes one of the sleeves, runs it over his balls while he slowly pumps with the other hand, sliding his thumb over his slit. Stiles’ toes curl. He bites his lip to stifle his moans.

He imagines Derek kissing him, hard and frantic, and in their haste to touch each other, Derek’s shirt tangles between them. When Derek presses against him, the shirt catches, deliciously sliding over Stiles’ dick as they rut together until they come.

He imagines Derek wearing the shirt as he opens Stiles. Stiles’ hands would fist in it, holding on as Derek unravels him with thick clever fingers. He imagines hauling Derek closer by the collar, kissing him, while Derek slides in, his dick stretching Stiles wide, splitting him apart. He imagines Derek fucking him with unrelenting thrusts, pistoning his hips, pumping into Stiles, the shirt rubbing over Stiles’ nipples as Derek moves, tickling the inside of his thighs as Derek hooks his arms under Stiles’ knees, pushing in deeper. He imagines Derek encouraging him to talk, asking him how good it feels to be fucked. Derek would slam into him over and over until he came, burying his dick deep into Stiles’ ass.

Stiles strips his dick roughly, digs his heels into his mattress as his balls tighten and cries out, spattering the shirt as he comes. 

* * *

**6.**  
 **Warnings: None.**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used: Somnophilia (I hope). Because I'm boring.**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles.**

Derek is careful. Always careful. 

His fingers skin down Stiles' smooth, pale back. Dark freckles are dotted all over, like a connect-the-dot that has no design. Stiles shifts slightly but doesn't move otherwise, which is truly amazing considering he's always so animated when he's awake. Not when he sleeps; no, when Stiles sleeps, he doesn't move all that much. Derek would know. This is not the first time they've spent a night together. 

He loves doing this. Waking up next to Stiles' warm, sleeping body and just touching him for a while. Stiles isn't a light-sleeper but he's not hard one either, he's somewhere in-between and that makes it perfect for this kind of thing. 

Derek traces the soft skin on Stiles' back and over the sharper angles where his shoulder blade is sticking out some. People would think Stiles lanky, but he's not; he's lean underneath all those too-big clothes. He's still got a while to fill out, but he'll get there. Maybe he won't have the mass he always complains about lacking, but he's not going to be a stick figure either. Derek leans in, pressing his nose to the back of Stiles' neck just to drink in his sleepy scent, to have more reason to stay pressed against him. 

Stiles makes a noise that's nothing more than a grunt/mumble lovechild. His biorhythms stay steady. 

Derek smirks a little. He rubs his hand down the dip of Stiles' back, to the side over his hip and then sweeping down to his _ass_. Pert, round and perfect. Stiles doesn't move still, doesn't wake up, and Derek's dick is already chubbing. He just works that mound of perfect gently, kneading and squeezing and touching. 

Stiles sighs, long and deep and twitches. Nothing more.

They've taken to stashing a bottle of lube under the pillows, which is convenient for this. Derek pulls his hand away long enough to slick three fingers and come back. He teases down the divide of Stiles' ass, skips along to gently rub at the soft skin behind Stiles' balls. 

Stiles tends to sprawl out on his stomach in his sleep. That just makes things easier though.

Derek stops delaying what he wants, what he _loves_ to do to Stiles when he sleeps, and gently presses his index finger against that tight ring of muscle; it's not _as_ tight while Stiles sleeps. No, he's pretty pliant, in fact. The inner ring is the tight one, but Derek slips past it because it's like Stiles' body was _made_ for him, opens to him whether it's a conscious effort or not. 

Stiles' heart rate finally starts to increase at two fingers knuckle-deep. By three, his breath catches and that moan goes from waking to confused to _pleased_. Stiles _squirms_ , idly spreading his legs wider. Derek presses lazy, loving kisses to Stiles' back. When he twists his wrist just so, finds that angle where he can rub over Stiles' prostate, Derek's cock is hard as fuck when Stiles briefly chokes on a breath. Derek _loves_ that reaction.

He also loves just how relaxed Stiles stays like this. It takes longer to work him when it's midday instead of morning. But now Derek can slide his fingers out and he does. He gets a little more lube for his cock and gives himself a few slow strokes, then inches into better position. He presses in and the breath punches out of him because Stiles' body is just so _welcoming_ to it, lets him sink in with one long thrust. 

Stiles will deny keening later.

Derek covers Stiles, stays _so close_ and starts to move, always slow at first. It doesn't take either of them long in the morning. Stiles braces a hand against the bed and just lets Derek _take_ because he's _that_ goddamn lazy in the mornings.

Derek holds one of those trim hips and both takes and gives, speeds up until they're both breathing hard and neither is sure who is making the most noise. When Stiles makes a high, urgent noise he knows he's close, twists his own hips and _bucks_ \--

Stiles comes with held breath and it only takes a few more desperate thrusts for Derek to tip over the edge, coming with a guttural noise. 

They both slowly relax and Derek gathers Stiles up against him, back to chest, and sighs. Stays inside him, just because. Stiles doesn't mind either.

"Mornin' perv," Stiles mumbles, grinning sleepily.

Derek just smirks and nips at his neck gently.

* * *

**7.**  
 **Warnings:** Angst. Underage. (Derek is 15, happens off screen). Sibcest themes (Laura wants him, but doesn't get him).  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Felching  
 **Pairing:** Laura/Kate, Kate/Derek

"Hey girl," the voice, smooth and dangerous, calls to Laura.

Kate Argent is standing there, in the dying light of the day, leaning on the side of her truck. The only reason Laura'd be out here is for Kate, the smug smile on her face say Kate knows that.

"Kate," Laura says, by way of a greeting. She knows it's stupid, she knows it's wrong, but she just can't help herself.

Kate's all short skirts and biker boots. Laura can smell Derek on her from all the way over here.

Kate's laugh rips through the silence of the forest, so loud Laura's almost worried they'll hear it from the house. Kate's laugh isn't a kind one, it's mocking and dangerous. She knows better.

"Fancy seeing you here, sugar." Kate smiles, baring teeth. "Bet you can _smell_ what I've been up to this evening. What excuse did he use this time?"

Laura can feel the rage building inside of her, she can barely stand Kate talking about her baby brother, let alone the thought of her touching him, fucking him. "Don't," Laura growls, eyes flashing.

"Oh honey, you're so far gone, and how filthy is that? Do you know the things I let him do to me?" Kate's walked right into Laura's space, the smell of Derek is _overpowering_.

"Shut up!" Laura's breaths are getting heavier, she can smell him all over, she can see the marks he's left on Kate's neck, her breasts. How fucking stupid is he?

"Do you know he talked about mating me today? Cuddled me afterwards and traced the marks he'd left. Said we'd be together forever, how fucking naive is that?"

Laura can't take it. Before she knows it she's flipping them around, pinning Kate to the tree.

Kate laughs, she fucking _laughs_. "You are so far gone. It's sweet, really, you want to be his big sister, look after him, bet he doesn't know how badly you want to pin him down, how often you come with his name on your lips."

She shuts Kate up with a rough biting kiss to the lips. She needs her to stop talking. She can taste hints of Derek still in Kate's mouth.

Tracing the bites and marks down Kate's throat she growls at each one. Derek should be marking her. Fuck, no he shouldn't, he should find a nice girl, someone who's good and right, not Laura, definitely not Kate.

Kate's hand is on her shoulder, pushing her to her knees. Laura goes, she's in this fucking deep, why not?

"I've got a surprise for you..." Kate taunts as she spreads her legs, reaches up and pulls of her soiled underwear. The smell of Derek's so strong, almost like...

"That fucking idiot," Laura curses as she realises, she can smell Derek, the musky smell of him, seeping out of Kate.

When Laura looks up, Kate's smirking. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of letting an animal like him get me pregnant. They'd probably be, what, pups? I don't have time to raise dogs."

Laura lets her claws dig in to Kate's thigh. She should tell her to go to hell. She should tell their mom, their alpha. Fuck, she should tell Gerard or Chris or any Argent. What Kate's doing isn't right, it's fucking rape. But Derek would hate her, he called Kate his mate and she can't lose Derek.

"Shut up," Laura hisses and leans forward. She doesn't want to be excited about this, but she's never tasted Derek before. She'd never get this without Kate, without Derek's stupidity, it's so wrong... .

She laps carefully at Kate's lips, the salty burst of _Derek_ on her tongue, it's good, it's so good. She can let her eyes close and try and strip away the taste of Kate, the soft, girlish thighs hiked up over her shoulders.

She can think of him, little grunts and whines. She doesn't care if it's good for Kate, she chases him deep into Kate, when she can't get any further she uses her fingers, digging out his taste until it's like he was never there.

She'll rub her own scent all over Kate, she'll eat her out until she comes, over and over again, until all taste of Derek is gone, flushed out of Kate's cunt by her own juices.

When she's done she'll cry, washing herself until the scent's gone.

Later that night they'll sit in the livingroom, Derek fifteen and moody, Laura watching, wanting him, trying to be the annoying older sister when all she wants is to pin him down and fuck him.

Except they don't. Because that's the night their house burns.

* * *

**8.**  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Fingerbanging, a bit of gender roleplay  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

\---

When people find out that Derek and Stiles are a _thing_ , they always think three things:

1\. Derek is the toppiest top ever to top.

2\. The sex is kinky as all getout.

3\. Stiles is a screamer.

Except they’re wrong.

Despite his penchant for throwing Stiles against hard surfaces and growling threats while he towers over his betas, Derek is happiest on his hands and knees, ass in the air while Stiles pounds into him from behind, or on his back with his arms and legs wrapped around Stiles like some sort of were-octopus. 

Not that Stiles minds at all. Stiles freaking _loves_ topping. They’ve tried it the other way around, but it wasn’t as good, wasn’t as…natural. It was awkward and hesitant, and yeah Stiles _really_ likes his prostate, but he loves the way it feels to be buried deep in Derek so much more.

So Derek isn’t a top, and Stiles isn’t a bottom, and to fuck with stereotypes even more, Derek may be the big bad alpha, but he’s the chef in the pack, likes rom-coms, and although he won’t admit to it, has a shockingly large number of pink shirts in the back of his closet. When Stiles found them, Derek swore Laura bought them for him as a joke, but Stiles knows better.

Yeah. Derek is the girl in their relationship, and Stiles fucking adores that about him.

And their sex isn’t kinky. Yes, they have their moments (like the time Stiles fucked Derek over the hood of his Camaro because seriously, have you _seen_ that car, and yes it was broad daylight and yes they were on the side of the highway where anyone could have seen, but the Camaro is a sex car and he won’t let anyone tell him differently), but most times they fuck in their bed with their trusted favorites, good ol’ missionary and doggy style.

Stiles loves it. He likes the kinkier stuff, but the sex is about being with Derek rather than how he’s with him. 

And he’s never asked Derek, but he knows Derek craves the intimacy. He thinks it has to do with Kate, because what little Derek’s told him about Kate gives him the impression their relationship was all about the sex. And that sex…well, Derek’s only spoken of it here and there, but Stiles can gather from those bits and pieces that it was kinky. The kind of kinky that would have enticed a sixteen-year-old virgin, would have stroked his ego and manipulated him in all the ways Kate wanted.

So Stiles gives Derek all the intimacy he can because he wants Derek. Not just his body, but his mind and heart too, as cheesy as it sounds.

And lastly, Stiles is not a screamer, thankyouverymuch. In fact, sex is probably the only thing that can really shut him up and make him focus.

Derek, on the other hand…

“Fuck, Stiles, oh _god_ –”

Stiles grins and twists his fingers even further, massaging Derek’s prostate relentlessly.

Derek is twisting and writhing and _moaning_ , and it’s so fucking obscene that Stiles decides he’s going to get Derek off just like this, with just the persistent, merciless thrust of his fingers on that one spot that always turns Derek into a melted pile of alpha goo.

Derek’s legs are spread wide, his cock lying hard and leaking on his stomach. His arms are gripping the headboard above him and his back is arching beautifully, and when he comes, clamping down hard on Stiles’s fingers and groaning loudly, Stiles wishes he could pause everything and just keep Derek forever in that moment of absolute bliss.

Stiles doesn’t wait for Derek to come down from his high. He wraps a hand around himself, stroking hard and fast until he’s coming too, then cleans them both off with the wet towel he’d laid on their nightstand earlier. He collapses on the bed and pulls Derek to him, tucking Derek’s head into the crook of his neck.

“That was good,” Derek murmurs, sleepy and relaxed.

Stiles hums. “Yeah, it was.” His hand drifts down to where Derek is still loose and open, and he slips two fingers inside.

Derek sighs and relaxes even more, drifting off until he’s snoring softly in Stiles’s ear.

Stiles pulls him in tighter. Yeah, he thinks, there are a lot of things people get wrong about them, but he doesn’t care because they fit together in all the right ways.

* * *

**9.**  
 **Warnings:** dub-con, barebacking  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** somnophilia, clothes sharing, brief fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Allison

Allison is asleep in his bed, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of black lacy panties. 

It's two o'clock in the morning and Stiles is exhausted, so instead of questioning why Allison is there he strips down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs and climbs in beside her. He's careful not to touch, and it should be weird but he's too tired to really think about it.

*

Stiles wakes with a gasp, his dick rock hard and surrounded by glorious wet heat. He sees Allison smirking down at him, and realizes he's buried deep inside of her. She grins, grinding her hips, and Stiles makes a strangled noise. 

"Next time you find me sleeping in your bed," she says, "I want you to fuck me. And if you wake me up while you're doing it, you won't get to come."

Stiles groans and Allison rides him hard until he's swearing and coating her insides with his come.

*

Stiles can't get her words out of his head. He fantasizes about it, pictures it while his hand is wrapped tightly around his dick, jerking himself desperately.

*

Allison is sleeping in his bed again. Like the first time, she's wearing nothing more than one of his shirts and a pair of panties. Stiles licks his lips as he stares at her. She looks so relaxed and innocent, like the naïve teenager that all of them should be but none of them are.

His dick starts to harden and Stiles hesitates for a moment. He wants to do this, _she_ wants him to do this, so he strips off his clothes and carefully climbs onto the end of the bed.

Allison is on her back, one hand curled near her face and the other splayed over her stomach, shoved under the edge of his shirt. Stiles holds his breath as he curls his fingers around the top of her panties. He pulls them off slowly, over the curve of her ass and the jut of her hips, down her legs to drop them on the floor.

She doesn't move, and Stiles feels a thrill of triumph, pressing his hands to her inner thighs. She's warm and pliant as her legs fall open, and Stiles draws in a sharp breath, staring at the dark curls and the folds of her center.

Stiles palms at his dick to try and ease the ache. He reaches out a finger to touch between her legs, feeling the slight dampness there. She's not nearly wet enough for him, and Stiles carefully stretches over her to grab the lube in his bedside table.

He warms some in the palm of his hand before slipping two slick fingers inside of her. He watches his hand move against her as he spreads the lube, the heat of her making his hips hitch with want. Allison whimpers softly and Stiles pauses, waits until she's settled again before pulling his fingers free. He slicks his dick and pushes her legs far apart.

The first press in is overwhelming. Allison is soft and tight and so fucking incredible Stiles has to choke back a groan. He takes a moment to breathe, and then he's pulling out and pushing back in as deep as he can. 

Stiles tries to hold back, rolling his hips so that his dick slides smoothly rather than with rough thrusts, watching as it disappears into her over and over, but it isn't long before Stiles is aching and ready to come. He shifts, leaning over her and holding his weight up on trembling arms. The change in angle is perfect, making him gasp as hot sparks of pleasure pool at the base of his spine.

Allison is completely still, and Stiles whimpers quietly as he stares down at her peaceful face. She's limp and unresponsive, and it hits him suddenly that Allison is _asleep_ and Stiles is fucking her.

A broken moan rips from him, his fingers twisting in the sheets, and he comes _hard_. His dick jerks and pulses, filling Allison full of his come, his hips grinding against her. For a moment Stiles is worried he woke her, that she'll blink up at him and shatter the illusion, but that doesn't happen.

She's still sleeping, mouth parted and eyes moving rapidly beneath her eyelids. Stiles grins and doesn't bother to clean either of them up before he lays down next to her and falls asleep to the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

* * *

**10.**  
 **Warnings:** Underage, extreme dubcon (possibly non con, depending on how sensitive you are- While Stiles' consent in this is implied, he is underage, and Harris is using his authority over him to coerce him into a sexual act)

 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Age disparity

 **Pairing:** Adrian Harris/Stiles

"There is no way I failed this test," Stiles says, hating the way his voice quavers. He compensates by jabbing his finger boldly at the test he's just slammed down on Mr. Harris' desk. A failing grade means getting it signed by a parent and he _can't_ do anything else to disappoint his dad.

Mr. Harris looks up from the halfgraded homework scattered around his desk. "You deserved exactly what you got Mr. Stilinski."

He gives Stiles one of the heated looks that have become increasingly common lately. "If you're willing to put in the effort, and think you can convince me otherwise however..." Harris stands, not bothering to hide the way his trousers tent obscenely in the front, and walks toward the supply closet attached to his classroom.

Stiles watches him, and then takes a deep breath and licks his lips. He'd known where this might go, when he came by so late, detention long since released. He's not stupid. Still, it's a long minute before he can get his legs to work so he can follow. 

He's pushed to his knees as soon as the door is closed behind them.

One of Harris' hands slides from his shoulders to his throat, forcing his neck back, before moving up to cup his jaw. His thumb caresses over Stiles' bottom lip and Stiles opens his mouth involuntarily under the slight pressure, his breath hitching when Harris slips his thumb inside, rubbing over his molars and forcing his jaw wider.

"Such a pretty mouth. It gets you into so much trouble, though. How many times have I given you detention because of it? "Mr. Harris leans close then, and whispers, "Do you want to know a secret? Every time I sent you to detention, I thought about bringing you back here. Making you put this mouth to better use. That's all a little slut like you deserves. You come into my classroom with the rest of the little brats, acting like you own the world, like you're invincible and nothing can touch you... But I'm going to touch you, and maybe, if you apply yourself like you never do in class, I might even be willing to help your grade out. Hmm? What do you think Mr. Stilinski?"

Stiles gulps, but he doesn't fight when Harris drags his dick out, slapping it against his cheek, before sliding the tip across his lips. He stops just short of pushing into Stiles' mouth though.

And then Harris is stepping back. His dick is flushed and dripping, standing out from the perfect pleats of his trousers, and Stiles' cheeks burn in humiliation when he finally gets it. He's going to have to work for this. Harris is going to make Stiles take the initiative, because then... then he's not being forced.

He _needs_ this grade though. So he crawls forward until he's close enough to let his tongue dart out to taste the tip of his teacher's dick. He recoils immediately at the bitter taste, but before he can get up, give up on this as a lost cause, Harris is grabbing the back of his head and holding him in place. He fucks deep into Stiles' mouth in one go, and doesn't let up, even when Stiles scrabbles at his thighs to get away. To breathe. 

When he's finally allowed to wrench free, coughing, he falls forward. Tears streak down his cheeks, and a line of pre-come clings to his lips. Harris reaches for it, gathering it up, before he smears it over Stiles' lips, shushing him.

"Fuck," Mr. Harris hisses, "I knew you'd have a hot little mouth." His heavy gaze is smug. 

Stiles tries to back away, but the closet is small and there's nowhere to go. Not that it matters. Harris is just standing there, disconcertingly calm, and lazily fisting his dick.

"I thought you needed that grade, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles closes his eyes, fighting tears as he struggles back up. He gags again when he takes Harris' dick again, but he manages to hold still when the man fucks his mouth, brutal until his come floods to coat Stiles' tongue.  
___

"Your teacher called. Mr. Harris right?" Sheriff Stilinski says later that night. He's grinning at Stiles like he hasn't in a long time. "He wanted to let me know personally how hard you've been working to bring your chemistry grade up."

Stiles flinches. His dad doesn't notice.

"I'm proud of you kid."

* * *

**11.**  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:**  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek with Lydia - voyeurism

She wasn’t going to keep doing this. She was going to stop. This would be the last time. 

It happened by accident the first time. Lydia’d found a spell for a scrying mirror and they had a hoard of pixies breathing down the packs necks. Contrary to popular belief, pixies were not all cute, fuzzy, sparkle-dusted rays of sunshine. 

They were malicious, malevolent and spiteful. 

So, she made the scrying mirror. She thought she could use it to spy on the pixies. 

At first, she wasn't’ sure what she was looking at. The mirror was clouded over partially - smokey and dim. She tweaked her spell ingredients and tried again and this time it came up clear and pristine. 

It was Stiles and Derek. 

She startled, rearing back slightly and then… inched closer. It was _Stiles and Derek_.

Stiles… his body….of course she knew what he looked like. Not as built as Scott or Jackson and especially not like Danny or Derek. Slender. Lean. 

But she hadn’t expected the lines of him to be so… lithe. Stiles on his knees, Derek flat on his back, legs wrapped around Stiles slim waist, Stiles’ long fingers curved around Derek’s knees and Jesus had Stiles always had hands like that? Stiles fucked Derek with purpose, with precision - the same concentration on his face as when they were preparing spells or dealing with wolfsbane. Focused and intense. Eyes dark and steady. The snap of his hips made Lydia’s panties wet. Stiles rolled his torso, thrusting into Derek. 

From Derek’s reactions, Stiles was doing it _perfectly_. Lydia felt a thrill spike deep in her belly and between her legs. 

Holy fuck. 

Stiles grinned as he looked down at Derek and then pumped Derek’s cock slowly, steadily, all while fucking him evenly and deeply. Derek’s eyes were half lidded, head thrown back, baring his throat for Stiles. 

Lydia squirmed at the sight, bit down on her lower lip.

It was over too quickly for her liking, Derek arched his back and came with a shout while Stiles fucked him through it, leaning over Derek, caging him with his arms, holding himself up while Derek stared at him adoringly, panting his name. 

Stiles licked into Derek’s mouth and then bit down on Derek’s bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. When Stiles came, his body was like art - poised, tensed and the way he said Derek’s name, the way he clutched at Derek and then surged forward and kissed him again - all tongues and teeth had Lydia reaching down into her pants. 

She got herself off in less than a minute - wet, slippery and hot from watching Stiles and Derek. 

And afterward…

Afterward, Stiles slipped out of Derek both of them groaning in protest. Stiles was out of view of the mirror for a moment, coming back with a towel and he cleaned Derek off carefully and slowly, all while Derek watched him sleepy and sated. Stiles crawled into bed, limbs moving in a way she’d never seen from him before, a smile on his lips. He tugged and pulled until he got Derek where he wanted him - spooning against Stiles’ back, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. 

Lydia didn’t feel bad for watching them fuck, but she felt bad for watching them like this. She turned away from the mirror. 

She was back two days later and then again the next day, and the day after that. She didn’t know if what she was watching was in real time or if the mirror saved it for her - saved the two of sliding and grinding against each other, jerking each other off, fucking each other, blowing each other. She didn’t care how it worked, all she cared about was watching the way the light hit their bodies, they way the pawed at each other - sometimes roughly, sometimes tenderly. The way they fucked each time like it was their last. 

She was never giving up her mirror. 

* * *

**12.**  
 **Warnings:** underage  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Danny (one-sided), Danny/other

It’s important to point out, Stiles feels, that none of this happened on purpose.

Okay, yes, he was crouched in the bushes out behind the Mahealani house in the dark, and yes he was looking through Danny’s window. But the charges being thrown around were ridiculous. Indecent exposure? Public lewdness? Okay maybe the public lewdness charge was fair, but his pants had stayed on the whole time. Nothing was exposed!!

The thing is, see, that Stiles had been a little worried about Danny. He’d been acting really off since Jackson had left town, and while it was totally possible that he was just sad and missing his best friend, it was also possible that he was in way over his head with something much worse. Scott had repeatedly informed Stiles that Danny smelled as awesome as always, but months of supernatural peril had made Stiles the tiniest bit paranoid.

So Stiles had been maybe a little bit spying on Danny.

He thought he’d see _something_ that would clue him in, something to explain why someone who had always been so bright and shining was now all dim and flickering away.

He didn’t. Nothing, no clues. Just a glum looking Danny, slipping his shirt and jeans off and putting them directly into the hamper. Just Danny, stretching and arching and moving his muscles in a way that made Stiles lose his balance and fall against the side of the house with a dull thud. He’d crouched down low, using the bush as cover when Danny came to the window and peered out.

He could have left then, maybe should have. But he’d still been legitimately worried about Danny, so he mustered all of his stealth and peeked through the window again.

But that's when things got really interesting. Danny was leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing a hand slowly across his abs while he waited for his laptop to wake up. Stiles rubbed his hand against his own stomach, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be as built as that. When Danny leaned forward and navigated his way to Omegle, Stiles breath caught in his throat a bit.

It’s possible that Stiles had forgotten a little bit about why he was really there after that. Possibly. Because Danny’s body was unmarked and he wasn’t exhibiting any sketchy behavior, but he was flashing his dimples at his webcam. And maybe possibly Stiles knew what he was watching before it happened. In his defense, Danny was pretty mesmerizing. The sadness and tension seemed to vanish as he laughed at the guy on the screen. And when his hand slipped into his briefs, his eyes slipped shut and he looked almost happy.

Stiles pressed a hand against the bulge in his jeans when Danny brought his cock out, stroking it slowly for his online audience. His dark eyebrows pulled together in concentration as his legs spread slightly wider. Stiles had vaguely been able to see the guy on the computer putting on a show of his own, but it was nothing compared to watching the way Danny moved under his own hand.

Stiles threw an arm against the windowsill, stuffed his mouth full of his jacket sleeve as he did his best to stroke his cock through his jeans. God how he’d wished the window had been open just slightly, so he could hear the sounds coming from Danny’s slack mouth, hear the filthy words dropping from his lips as he came.

Maybe he was imagining those sounds too hard, and that’s how he managed to miss the sound of the door opening. Maybe his own muffled moans covered the crunch of grass as Danny’s mother approached. Maybe if he’d had awesome werewolf hearing he wouldn’t have been caught with his hand down his pants outside his classmates bedroom window. And maybe if he’d had super werewolf speed, he wouldn’t be sitting on the Mahealani’s back stairs dying of mortification as Mrs. Mahealani informs his father that she won’t be pressing any charges.

Stiles closes his eyes as their voices wash over him, glad that Danny is safe if not hurting. He worries about facing him at school in the morning - partly because Danny will probably know what a creeper Stiles is, but even more because he’ll never be able to forget how incredible the guy looked when he came.

* * *

**13.**  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** clothes sharing, rimming  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

It's the smell of bacon that wakes Derek, blinking bleary eyes at the light streaming in through the windows. It takes him a minute to place it though, mind shuffling through the fog of sleep to figure out where he is and why his arms feel empty. The sheets next to him are cool to the touch, but the air smells warm and homey.

He makes his way downstairs to find Stiles in the kitchen, surrounded by sunlight. The weather looks perfect through the windows, blue skies and endless sun, but Derek's attention is stuck on Stiles at the stove, unaware of Derek behind him.

Derek uses the opportunity to take Stiles in; his wild hair and the bruise on his nape, his firm thighs and knobby ankles. Stiles is wearing the t-shirt Derek had on last night, a navy blue v-neck that looks striking against Stiles' skin. Years ago, it would've been long enough for Stiles to maintain _some_ decency. Now, he's taller, a little broader in the shoulders. Though it'll still flash some collar bone in the front (Derek can picture the sharp blade of it perfectly), it's too short, revealing the swell of Stiles' ass, the creases of his thighs. Soft, thin skin Derek's drawn to.

Stiles steps to the side as Derek pushes off the wall, holding his breath until he can drop to his knees behind Stiles, hands landing on Stiles' thighs to steady him. Something clatters to the counter and Stiles gasps, legs widening. Derek presses his face to Stiles' back and breathes deep. "Don't move," he murmurs.

"Wasn't planning on it," Stiles breathes out on a shudder.

Stiles is warm, still smells of come and lube, but his skin pebbles under Derek's exhale, hair standing on end like it's oriented to Derek's presence. Derek uses his nose to push the t-shirt up, revealing Stiles' ass, Derek's tongue following the crease until he reaches the dip of Stiles' spine. There, their scents mix, and Derek sucks a kiss to make sure it stays that way. 

He drops back down again, nipping bites all over Stiles' ass, quick little pinches of skin between his teeth. His hands come up to soothe the stings and Stiles rocks into the touch, whimpering.

They both know what's next: the first swipe of Derek's tongue over Stiles' hole has them both groaning, but neither of them had the energy to clean up properly last night, so there are still traces of lube for Derek to rub away with his thumb. He tries to be gentle, but Stiles flinches anyway, soft little hurt noises coming from low in his throat. Derek sucks a dirty kiss there after he's done, tongue wet and light, tracing circles until Stiles trembles under his hands.

"Derek," Stiles says; a whimper. His thighs vibrate from the strain, and Derek can hear the scratch of nails against the countertop. Derek growls and pushes Stiles open that much further, tongue following the perineum to lick at Stiles' balls.

It doesn't take long after that, Stiles choking out Derek's name as he gets come all over Derek's shirt. Derek catches him before he collapses and lowers him to the floor, his face bright red. Stiles presses it to the cool tile floor, mouth curved in a pleased grin.

While Stiles catches his breath, Derek eases himself out of his sweats. His hand is warm and he's happy to jerk himself off, but Stiles gives him grabby hands and that's not something Derek can refuse. 

Stiles can't sit up yet, so Derek stretches out next to him, watches Stiles rise up on an elbow and lean over him. Derek wraps a hand around Stiles' neck, thumb resting over his pulse. He tries to hold out, but it's too much: the mingled scents of them, the cotton stretched across Stiles' chest, the tight-perfect grip around his cock.

Derek comes with a growl, Stiles kissing him through it. Soft, wet, sucking kisses that wreck Derek. Stiles doesn't let go of Derek's cock until Derek starts twitching.

He collapses on Derek, then, as they both recover. Which is okay, since Derek is reluctant to move. The tile may be hard, but it'll be months before Stiles comes home again, and Derek wants to touch him as much as possible. 

It's Stiles, though, who ruins the moment, mumbling something about burnt potatoes and crispy bacon.

"Your fault," Derek points out.

Stiles pinches Derek's nipple. "But it's worth it every time."

* * *

**14.**  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Stiles

Title: These cold and damp white mornings

There was a hollowness in her she couldn’t fill.

Three long months. 

Three months since Allison felt Scott’s touch, or anyone’s for that matter. The brush of fingers over her shoulder, the warmth of a hand in hers, the caress of her hair. 

Spending the summer away from Beacon Hills was the right choice to make, no doubt, but it was also isolating and lonely. Her mother’s brother’s family weren’t physically affectionate, which was fine, but it wasn’t until she arrived at home that Allison realized she missed it.

Her father held her close when he picked her up from the airport and pressed a kiss against her temple. 

Lydia hugged her, stroked her hair back from her face and tugged the scarf from around her neck. 

Nighttime was frustrating. She couldn’t find anything to make her feel right, satiated. The dildos were too impersonal and her vibrator wasn’t right, wasn’t warm and didn’t react to her. 

She trained with her father and learned the right way to hunt. She learned by the code and tried to erase the scars her grandfather and Kate had left behind.

Isaac avoided her at all costs. They only had one class together first semester so it wasn’t hard but she and Scott had four together and where Scott was, Isaac was soon behind. Scott threw her a couple soft looks over the first couple weeks of school but didn’t push.

Allison wanted someone to push.

Random pairing groupwork was arguably the most hated of all classroom activities. Of course it meant that Allison and Isaac were forced to be paired together.

Allison didn’t even have to look at Isaac to know he was uncomfortable so she mumbled something about feeling sick before running from the room.

In the hallway Allison ran past a few students but didn’t register them. She slammed into the nearest female bathroom and hunched over the sink. 

She was angry, she was lonely, abandoned and fucking ashamed. 

“Allison?”

She jumped at her name, whirling around and shoving the person who’d touched her shoulder against the stalls behind them, one hand tightly around their neck.

“Whoa, whoa!” Stiles choked out, waving his arms at her. “Friendly! Friendly!”

“Oh shit,” Allison whispered. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she stepped away. “Stiles, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

Her eyes filled with tears and Allison covered her mouth with her hand as if to force everything back inside. Stiles stepped forward and awkwardly put his hands on her shoulders.

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean it.” He drew her into an embrace. Allison clutched at his undershirt and buried her nose into his neck, drawing in a familiar smell, feeling rocked to her core by it.

“ _Stiles_ ,” she murmured against his skin.

The feeling in the room changed immediately, Allison’s breath sending signals to Stiles’ brain he wasn’t expecting.

“Please,” she whispered, feeling him harden against her belly.

“What?” Stiles asked dumbly. Allison drew him with her back to the sinks. She reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down and off, tossed them to the floor, then she perched on the edge of the sink and pulled his hand to her mouth, sucking on them quickly to get them wet before moving it between her legs.

“ _Please_ ,” she repeated.

Stiles tipped his head to rest against hers and moaned quietly as she guided his fingers--his long, lithe fingers--to her pussy. She was already wet and it felt like she’d been permanently lately.

Stiles learned quickly, tentatively thrusting one finger before adding two and working them in and out of Allison while she clutched at his shoulders and clenched around him. Stiles wasn’t particularly finessed but he knew where her clit was and learned how to make her jerk into his hand. Allison clung to him and swore when he added a third finger, getting her wetness all over his hand.

“S-Stiles,” Allison stuttered. “I want to come.”

Stiles pressed his thumb against her clit and crooked his fingers in her at the perfect angle and that was it. She shook against him and cried out.

Allison’s head fell onto Stiles’ shoulder as she came down. She leaned against the sink while her legs shook and he grabbed paper towel to wipe his hand.

“You okay?” Stiles asked.

Allison looked him straight in the eye, finally full again. “I feel good.”

* * *

**15.**  
 **Warnings:** Incest, dub-con/non-con  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** fingerbanging, age disparity  
 **Pairing:** Allison Argent/Gerard Argent (background Allison/Derek) 

 

“Sir, his majesty has expressed his willingness to waiver this particular tradition.” the royal guard followed the Argent patriarch into the royal chambers. 

Allison glanced up from where she was sitting on the bed, eyes tracing the stitching on the duvet as she tried to get her heartbeat under control. 

Her grandfather didn’t even look at the guard “Nonsense, I think his majesty has done away with enough traditions.” He sat down beside her on the bed, eyes hard as they turned on the guard “You can wait outside, and fetch his majesty when she’s ready for him.”

The guard’s mouth tightened but he nodded, and Allison caught the yes sir whispered under his breath as he left.

“Well,” Gerard turned to her expectant “I hope your father has kept you informed of tradition.” 

Allison swallowed and nodded, standing. Her hair was still done up in curls, held back by jewel encrusted clips that had been handed down through the women of the royal family. With hands that only shook slightly she reached up to undo, letting her hair tumble down around her shoulders. They shook less as she undid the silk belt holding together her robe. The ladies that would be handmaidens had changed her out of the heavy and binding wedding dress into this.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, pulling it off and letting at pool at her feet. She stood in front of her grandfather stark naked, staring at the wall above his shoulder. His eyes moved over her body assessing, taking her in as if she was a horse at the market.

“Good, I’m sure he’ll appreciate your looks. Now come on and sat down beside me, no need to draw this out.” He patted the spot next to him and Allison sat, eyes straying to the door. She could see the guard through a crack in the door, his back was to her but she knew he heard everything. She didn’t jump when her grandfather’s hand moved up her legs and biting her lip she spread them.

He hummed his approval, not hesitating as he dragged the pad of his finger over the lips of her sex. “Traditions are very important Allison,” his fingers were light and teasing as he brushed them over her “it’s my duty as the head of this family to uphold them.” He stroked her gently making her tremble. “You know I would have done this for Kate had they not had her killed for betraying the crown.” Allison didn’t hear the accusation in his tone that would have been there if they weren’t within earshot of the royal guard. The one that said it would have been better for all if she had killed the heir along with the king. 

The heir turned king that Allison had married earlier that day. An Argent had been promised to the the Hale heir since her birth, a way to bring peace between the two nations. That hadn’t changed with her aunt’s betrayal. 

He pushed at her harder, his pace increasing and Allison tasted blood in her mouth from where she had bite into her lip. She could feel herself growing wet around his fingers. So could he, because his voice sounded pleased “You’re doing beautifully dear, your father thought he could talk me out of doing my duty. Tried to argue that the old traditions were no longer needed.” He told her scornfully and she shook around him, eyes closing and unable to keep her lips from opening as she breathed. 

She felt sick.

“It’s my duty to prepare you for your husband; I care for you very much.” He confessed to her like what he was doing was a favor. “I would hate to see that monster tear you apart.” 

Allison’s hands dug into the duvet, and she clenched her teeth together to keep a cry from breaking forth as she fell apart around him, body shaking.

His fingers stroked her one last time, as if fond, before he removed his hand. “Good girl, you’re ready for him now.” She could hear the smile in his voice and the bed shifted under his weight as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He rose and her eyes opened, a tear working its way down his cheek as he left without a backwards look. He opened the door wider and she watched him whispered to the guard, accepting a towel to wipe his hand off.

Allison focused on breathing. 

**16.**  
 **Warnings:** hand-wavey medical facts and wildly inappropriate abuse of position used as excuse to make Jackson get a rectal examination, age-difference, Jackson having a poor and limited perception of his own sexuality, some humiliation (situational, private)  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** age disparity, fingerbanging, reference to sounding  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Melissa

It should be humiliating, but it's mostly just hot. Scott - _Scott McGall_ , looser extraordinaire from high school - _that_ Scott's _mom_ is fucking Jackson's ass. 

All because Jackson had gotten just a little too drunk, which had made him try to hook up with a guy in a bar, which had led to amazing groping - right up until Jackson remembered that he Wasn't Gay, an observation he shared with the guy, who punched him in the stomach and left him there to puke. None of which was a first time occurrence. The problem was that in his hungover state Jackson had mostly forgotten about all that, and when his pee had come out a little too orange for his liking he had freaked the fuck out. With his parents in earshot. And, mortified, Jackson hadn't been able to reassure them that he probably did _not_ have prostate cancer. So, here he was, his father yelling at the staff and a very unimpressed nurse looking at them with thinning patience. 

“Look, I don't care. This is my son, and his private clinic is closed today which is the only reason we're here, and I want him examined. Right. Now.”

The nurse opens her mouth, likely to argue for the fifth time that the ER was swamped enough, then she stops. A slow, sweet, utterly evil smile spreads across her face. She picks Jackson's file. “You know what? Fine. I'll even do it myself. Jackson? Come with me.”

Jackson shivers but follows her into a secluded room, breathing a sigh of relief at being away from his overbearing guardians. While she closes the door behind them, Jackson blurts: “I really just got drunk. But I didn't want to tell them. Because... because.”

“Oh, I know,” the nurse says, putting on gloves and opening drawers. 

“Ah. Okay. Good. Then just like write, whatever, “perfect stud health” in the sheet, and I'll be fine.”

“Yeah, no.” The nurse turns to him with a perfectly professional face. “Hello, my name is Melissa McCall. I'm here to give you a rectal examination to ascertain you don't have prostate cancer.“ 

She's holding up a tube of lubricant as she says the last part, and a glint in her eyes tell Jackson that she's not only utterly serious, but also that she plans on enjoying this.

“Fuck,” Jackson says.

A few minutes later find Jackson bent face first into crisp white examination table paper, naked from the waist down, with fingers pressing slowly into him.

The nurse is grinning around a few bad jokes, and he knows that despite everything she's trying to make him relax, but it only reminds him that she's _Scott's mom_. Jackson's face is burning, so he hides it in his arms. It makes his whole body shift for balance, and apparently distracts him just enough to relax some part of him, because the fingers slide the rest of the way in smoothly. 

Jackson locks up on them, tries to push the intrusion out, but it only makes him clench around the widest part of her fingers. He desperately wants not to think about any of this, which of course makes him live every second in vivid details. 

He can _feel_ her, deep inside, undeniable and intimate. It's not the ache he expected, it's a indescribable fullness that make him twitch. Mss McCall is talking to him, explaining what she's doing in a calm, expert voice, yet Jackson can hear the slight smirk catching on the end of her sentences. Jackson wonders if it's the voice she uses with her son when punishing him. And oh, that's a thought. This is totally the first and last part he'll tell people if this ever, ever, gets known: I had sex with a nurse, and someone's mom. She's even pretty.

Ms McCall uses that moment to press down on his prostate, and Jackson chokes through the rush of pleasure, blinking rapidly. Seemingly satisfied, she _punches_ her hand into that spot again, and Jackson can only hold on for the ride. His mouth's watering, his thighs are trembling, he's clenching down on each pass. He's hard as a fucking rock. 

Just as he thinks he might come soon, she stops, and nudges him to turn around. Her smile is wicked as she taps a long thin metal rod over the leaking head of his dick. 

“This,” she says, “is an urethral sound.” 

Jackson whimpers.

* * *

**17.**  
 **Warnings:** scat  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Jackson

They climb into the sewers. The stink has Jackson retching within moments, not-quite-liquid flowing around his ankles.

They don't talk about this shit (pun etc.) Not whenever Derek appears in the showers, after school, when everyone is around. Not when it's just them either. Derek followed him down here a while ago, caught him with his trousers around his ankles, his fist on his cock with Beacon Hills' wastewater sloshing around him mid-thigh high, and now they climb down together.

Jackson jumps the last few feet from the ladder, splashing up dirty water a he lands. It soaks into his trousers, some getting on his shirt, more landing on his crotch, but the shit only comes up to his ankles here, not too deep. Derek remains crouched above the stream, shards of sunlight glancing just past his head and burning into Jackson where he stands.

"Go on," Derek says.

Jackson looks up to him once then stares down the tunnel leading towards nothing as he unbuttons his shirt and drops it in the mess at his feet, pushes his trousers and underwear down until both are pooled around his ankles.

He knows how this goes. And as he first drop to his knees, then slowly lays back, the sun half-blinds him as it haloes around Derek. The water rolls up his thighs, across his crotch to his stomach and up his chest, just barely leaving his face waste-free. Sometimes Derek makes him submerge completely.

"Look at me," Derek says today though, and Jackson tries, against the sun and the stink. "Is that how dirty you are?" he asks. "Go on."

Jackson nods, spilling some of the shit water over his lips, making Derek chuckle, but he grabs for his cock and slowly wanks himself. He rubs from base to tip, getting his fist just above the surface before plunging back down until his knuckles press into his balls only to force his hand up again.

He's watching Derek watching him throughout, listens when Derek tells him that he's full of shit, that this is all he gets. He's watching Derek watching him stroke his cock, using everyone else's wastes for lube.

"I don't think you could get much lower," Derek says when Jackson is getting harder and getting off on this. 

He's right, but Jackson doesn't close his eyes, doesn't start humming some incessant song from the radio over Derek's words like he would have before. Songs don't drown out truths. 

They'd have never given him away if he was worth more than shit, even then. He's hardly worth more now.

Derek leaves him after he comes. Just climbs out and douses the sewers in darkness until there's only Jackson's hand on his cock, the sound of the water and the darkness around him. Until there's nothing but shit (no pun, not now).

They win the next game and the one after. There are celebrations, and he's on top of the fucking world, but he sees Derek in the stands. And they both know what he is.

* * *

**18.**  
 **Warnings:** None that I can think of

 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Shaving/Hair removal

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

Stiles flips on the light in the bathroom and stares at his face in the mirror, takes in the days-old scruff and the dark circles under his eyes. His eyes graze over the dark bruise high on his cheek and the bandage that covers the still healing cut on his forehead. He leans heavily against the sink, trying to remember why he came in here.

A week ago, Stiles had the misfortune of falling victim to an energy monster, and he still hasn’t fully recovered. Deaton’s theory is that’s because the monster didn’t just eat his energy, it took part of his life force -- his “spark”. As it is, he’s so tired he can barely see straight half the time, and his memories so shot to hell, he’s become a menace to himself and everyone around him. 

The pack’s trying to help, keeping him home so he can recover his strength. Stiles doesn’t know whether to be resentful that they’re making his decisions for him (again) or so fucking grateful that they care that much. 

He stares at himself and tries to remember why he’s here, the stubble on his face a distant and annoying itch. He’s never really been one for facial hair, and it kind of bugs him. 

His hands shake as he reaches for the can of shaving cream and his razor, and then he nearly drops the can because it’s just so _heavy_ , even though it’s only about half full. He stares tiredly at his reflection, then blinks when a large hand enters his field of vision and takes the can away. 

“What are you doing, Stiles?” Derek’s gruff voice doesn’t really surprise him. More often than not, it’s the Alpha on Stiles-watch. Stiles isn’t really sure how to feel about that. 

“I don’t really know,” he answers weakly. “I can’t remember what I came in here for, and then my face itched so...”

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes, setting the can down on the sink. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Nope,” Stiles replies, swaying away from Derek and reaching for the can. 

“Stiles.” Derek sighs in exasperation and takes it back again. 

Stiles plants his hands on the sink and turns to glare at him. “Would you _please_ ,” he snarls, “quit coddling me? I can shave my damned face if I want to!”

Derek holds his hands out and takes a step back. Stiles nods and sprays cream into his hand, feeling it shake as he pats his face. Once he’s happy with his foam, he picks up the razor and growls as it stops inches from his skin.

“Damn it, Derek!”

“You’re going to cut yourself, idiot,” Derek says, taking the razor away from him. “Just...Here. Let me.”

The next thing Stiles feels is a wall of solid heat at his back, and a gentle hand tilting his head up. Derek meets his gaze in the mirror and sets the razor to skin, drawing it slowly up from just above Stiles’ adam’s apple to the tip of his chin, flicking the foam into the sink. He keeps his strokes gentle and methodical, working his way around Stiles’ neck and then over to his cheeks.

Stiles’ breath catches at the feel of warm lips at the back of his neck, and he tilts his head to give Derek better access. The razor drags slowly along his jaw, and Stiles shudders when a warm finger follows it. His eyes slide closed as Derek trails kisses in the razor’s wake, and he can feel his body responding.

He leans more heavily into Derek and his hips twitch just enough to catch the other man’s attention. A sharp, indrawn breath and the razor’s in the sink. Derek’s hands slide to the waistband of Stiles’ pajamas and just hover there, waiting. Stiles makes an impatient noise, and Derek’s hand dives down, wrapping firmly around Stiles’ straining erection.

It only takes a handful of strokes, and Stiles is coming all over Derek’s hand. He sags back into Derek’s warmth as the Alpha kisses him before cleaning his hand and the foam from Stiles’ face. There’s only a token protest when Derek picks Stiles up and carries him to bed. 

Later there will be words about Derek treating Stiles like an invalid -- never mind that, in this moment, he pretty much _is_ one. For now, Stiles sinks into the warmth around him and drifts to sleep.


	2. Group B (with warnings)

**19.**  
Pairing: Peter/Stiles  
Warnings: shaving kink, age disparity, age play

Peter juggles his briefcase and take-out containers while trying to unlock the door to their apartment. His meeting ended early so he caught an earlier flight. He finally manages to open the door and lets himself inside. 

Stiles pokes his head out from the kitchen, “You’re early.”

A whiff of guilt floods his senses and Stiles is biting his lip like he’s been bad. Peter tilts Stiles’ chin so he cannot look away. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” asks Peter. 

“Um, no. Maybe. I’m sorry, Daddy,” replies Stiles.

Peter changes his tone appropriately, “Naughty little boys get punished, remember. I will take it into consideration if you tell me the truth right away.”

Stiles picks at the hem of his hoodie and mumbles, “Igotallhairydownthere.”

Peter frowns, “Little boys are smooth everywhere. You know that, baby.”

“It’s so hard to see when I try to do it and I like it better when Daddy does it,” whines Stiles. 

“What a troublesome child you are,” remarks Peter as he heads towards the bathroom. “Come and we’ll take care of it.”

Once inside the bathroom, Stiles eagerly takes off his pants and underwear, and props himself on the counter beside the sink. He spreads his feet as wide as they’ll go so his cock and balls are on full display. 

Peter starts with a warm towel to relax the hairs that is followed by a light layer of shaving cream. He picks up the razor when Stiles interrupts, “Daddy! That’s the wrong one!”

“It’s a razor, is it not?” replies Peter. 

“Blue is for the face. Orange is for down there, silly Daddy.”

Peter digs through the drawer to unveil the orange razor, “Now don’t interrupt me or I might shave off something extra.”

Stiles makes a zipper motion across his lips. Peter starts with the hairs on the pubic bone and works his way down. Stiles lets out a whimper when Peter manipulates Stiles’ balls to get at the fine hairs there. “Daddy,” Stiles whines. 

“Hush, child. Hold yourself open so I can get to that pretty little hole.” 

Peter spreads the shaving cream in a circular motion while Stiles holds his cheeks apart. Peter slips a finger inside and thrusts a couple of times. Stiles moans at the sensation and tries to move his hips to sink deeper into the finger. Peter removes his finger and starts shaving around the rosy pucker.  
“Inside, Daddy, I’ve missed you so much,” whines Stiles. He attempts to move his hand to touch his hard and aching cock, but he’s stopped immediately. 

“Keep them spread,” Peter commands. 

“But I need to come! If it gets any harder, it’s going to fall off!” exclaims Stiles.

Peter raises an eyebrow and slips his finger back inside, “We can’t have that, can we?”

Stiles’ reply bleeds into a loud moan when the finger slips out and returns with two fingers. Peter digs around the second drawer and removes a black toy. Stiles whines at the loss of fingers inside of him, but it’s quickly replaced by the cold slippery feel of the toy. It settles inside of Stiles pressing against his prostate while the other end presses on his perineum. Peter switches it on and the toy buzzes to life. It doesn’t take long before Stiles is screaming his orgasm and his cock jets out come all over his belly. 

Peter bends down to lick at the streaks of come and presses his lips against Stiles giving him a taste of himself. “It’s not going to fall off now, is it?”

Stiles shakes his head as he tries to recover his breath.

“Good, now let’s see how many times my little boy can come before he starts coming dry.”

Stiles’ eyes are wide with a mixture of horror and lust. 

* * *

**20.**  
 **Warnings:** somnophilia, the kind of dubious consent that comes with sleep sex in an established relationship  
 **Kink/Trope(s) used:** somnophilia, fingerbanging  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles

Derek is asleep when Stiles gets home. Like, passed the fuck out, sleep-of-the-dead asleep. Derek never sleeps that soundly, but it's been a long fucking week.

An errant black sock dangles from Derek's left foot, but he is otherwise deliciously naked.

Stiles toes the door shut. He does _not_ do a silent dance-shimmy because he's excited Derek's left himself vulnerable and open.

He should probably lie down and go to sleep, but he hasn't had much opportunity for ogling as he and Derek are usually busy researching, fighting, or fucking. He is inordinately pleased by this opportunity to just _look_. Hell, he's also curious to see what he might be able to get away with.

Derek is fucking gorgeous like this. The moonlight casts delicate shadows across his back, making it look longer and leaner than usual. He has one knee conveniently bent, opening his ass cheeks slightly. It's mouthwatering.

With little hesitation, he kneels by the bed, unwilling to risk waking Derek by climbing on it. (Yes, sticking a finger in his butt is probably going to wake him but Stiles isn't exactly working with logic right now.)

Placing one tentative hand on Derek's buttcheek, he pulls it to the side a smidge. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and wet, and then runs one gently over Derek's asshole. He rubs it a bit, then wets his finger some more.

On the next pass, he adds pressure and his finger sinks in to the first knuckle. Derek grunts, but remains asleep. Stiles, on the other hand, can feel his heartbeat in his cock. He's rock hard and ready to go. He moves his finger, a tiny push-pull, but he's going to have to get Derek a lot wetter to get any more in his ass.

He leans forward and licks Derek's rim where it's stretched around his finger. He quickly gets a rhythm going (lick-push-pull-lick-push-wiggle) and before he realizes it, his whole index finger is buried in Derek's ass.

"Jesus, _fuck_ , that's hot," he murmurs to himself, pausing.

"If you stop now, I will end you," Derek grunts.

"Holy fuck! Why didn't you tell me you were awake?"

"Why would I? You were doing fine. Get back to it," Derek says with a roll of his hips.

Stiles is _fine_ with this, so he wets his fingers again and goes in with two this time, breaching Derek a little quicker.

Derek arches his back, pushing his ass up into Stiles’ fingers, and moans into the pillows. Stiles pumps his fingers a few times before he needs more saliva. Derek reaches back with both hands and pulls his ass cheeks apart. It's obviously an invitation for Stiles to dive in again. He accepts.

Licking around Derek's rim, Stiles wets his fingers, and spreads them apart ever so slightly to make room for his tongue. The groan that follows sounds like it's ripped from Derek's chest.

Fuck, he's never seen Derek like this: rutting up into his hand, down onto the bed, moaning incoherently. There's no way Stiles can ignore himself anymore. He licks his palm and takes his own cock in hand, jacking himself to the same rhythm he's using on Derek.

He curls his fingers, moving them in tiny thrusts aimed for Derek's prostate. Derek nearly _howls_ when he hits it, hands falling to the bed for leverage to push his ass up.

"C'mon," he whispers, encouraging Derek to let go. He plants a hand on Derek's ass and climbs onto the bed, straddling Derek's thighs. Pushing him back down, he presses his fingers against Derek's prostate. Derek freezes and comes with a whine, trembling and twitching.

Stiles isn't about to waste the opportunity before him, and jacks his cock over Derek's clenching hole. He won't take long, not after watching Derek fall apart. He feels the orgasm building in the pit of his stomach as he imagines what it'll be like to get his dick in there. He presses the tip against Derek's asshole. Derek clenches, and that's enough to overwhelm Stiles' senses. He comes with a shout all over Derek's ass.

"Fuck," he cries, and collapses on top of Derek, dick nestled comfortably between Derek's cheeks.

It takes his heart a minute to calm down, another to get his breathing under control and roll off of Derek.

Who is asleep again.

"Stupid, gorgeous jerk," Stiles mutters and flops onto his back, utterly exhausted.

* * *

**21.**  
 **Warnings:** Gender roleplay and daddy!kink.  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging, fingerbanging, gender roleplay  & a hint of felching.  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Jackson

Lydia prefers to deal with problems in one of two ways, ignore them because it's beneath her or fuck it into submission.

It's tragically easy to ignore Jackson. 

However, Jackson and _his issues_ aren't to be dealt with in the same way. 

"Get it together, babe," she says sharply. "I'm not done yet." 

The snarl that comes out of Jackson is weak but it still exists so she reaches around, breasts swaying to press against the lean stretch of his back. His nipples are still tender and hot to the touch from where she bit them until Jackson crumbled, rolling away from her and pushing is ass up—desperate and needy to be fucked. 

"Look at you shake for me, Jackson. Are you gonna cry?" 

She keeps her voice as neutral as possible, even though the smooth black dick between her legs is swaying and rocking against her clit with it's heft. It bobs, sliding over Jackson's thigh and this time, when she pinches and rolls the bud of his nipple, he whimpers beautifully. 

"There you are," Lydia whispers, smug. "Are you ready to good?" 

It takes one dry finger over the pink hint of his hole before he cracks. 

"Please, please, god, would you just fuck—" 

"Watch your mouth," but her harshness comes from the twist of her finger as she seats it inside him. It's dry but he's already pushing back, making greedy noises with his mouth and this is exactly what they both need. 

She adds lube with her second finger, watching Jackson thrash his hot, wet face against the pillow as he rides her hand. Lydia waits him out, smooth and even strokes with her fingers and only the blunt tip of her cock touching him beyond that. She waits until her name stops falling sloppily from his swollen lips and something a little less nice trickles out. 

Sooner still, the nastiness passes, stripped away with the twist of her wrist and three fingers pressing against his prostate. Something else starts tumbling out, quiet but easy and Lydia sighs, using her other hand to pressed the hilt of her cock against her clit. 

"You have to speak up, Jackson," she says, tone no longer stern but firm and encouraging. "Come on, babe. Let me hear you." 

"God—" Jackson gasps and then comes that soft, wet hiccup. 

"There you go." 

The broken sobs get a little more seamless before, "Please, dad," he pleads, "please, daddy, I need you to— _dad_." 

He's cracked open, a little bit more human and she couldn't love him more. So she gives him exactly what he's asking for—the spread of her fingers goes from steady to punishing enough to hurt her wrist. 

"You look so good," she murmurs, dipping down to speak against the flush of his skin. "You want to be fucked so badly—want daddy's cock inside you, want me to fuck you until I fill you with come and lick you out, let you ride my face until I fuck you again. Listen to yourself. Sobbing for me and I want you, I want to fuck you but you have to—"

"Daddy!" he shouts it this time, almost defiant. 

"Come on, baby girl, you know what I need to hear," Lydia says back, biting at the curve of his ass, twisting her hand until she can trace the rim of his fucked out hole with her pinky nail. "Let me help you. You're so pretty, so ready for me. Let me fuck you, baby."

"Dad—daddy," Jackson cries out, Then, almost silently, "thank you." 

"Louder." 

"Thank you."

She presses forward, mouth open and sucking until another sob wrenches out. "Good girl, Jackson." 

"God—daddy, thank you, daddy thank you—" It runs together then, wrecked voice of sincere gratitude as she fucks up against his prostate and let's him come in a shuttery mess beneath her. 

It's easy to fuck into him after. She watches the way his body takes the give of her cock and how he begs, thanking her as she thrusts into him and comes grinding into his split wide rim. 

Later, she'll make him suck her dick until his face turns red and he chokes with how eager he is for her. She'll come again, fucking his mouth, and let him fall asleep—cock hard again—with his face tucked up against her chest as she whispers what a good girl he always is for her. 

Some problems have to be handled with a delicate hand. Luckily, she's got the perfect touch.

* * *

**22.**  
 **Warnings:** As there was no prior arrangement, I suppose it could be seen as non-consent to an extent.  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Somnophilia  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Allison

It hadn't been Scott's intention to get into a fight after practice, but he had, and rather than rip off the head of the guy from the other team that had been taunting him, he headed to the woods, and wolfed out, running and letting out all his pent up frustration, Derek helping a little bit by being a sparring partner, but that had got old quickly, and Derek told him to head home. And so he did - that was until he was a few blocks away from Allison's house, and he caught her scent. He was stopped in his tracks, inhaling in the aroma of her body, it took him back to before. Her smell, her taste. But now she wasn't his any more, and remembering that drove him to lose control of himself, running to her house and jumping through the open window. The animal inside him wanted raw, aggressive, sex. And who better than Allison? Though she looked like an angel while sleeping, he knew better. He knew she could handle herself. 

He made quick work removing his pants and boxers, his cock already sprung to attention at the idea of what he was planning on doing. Next, he pulled the sheets from her, and although she stirred, whimpering slightly, she didn't wake up. Slowly his hands slid to her sides to pull up her nightdress. Knowing he needed to be careful to not wake her, he first slipped a finger between her folds, finding her dry, but he told himself it was worth the risk. Putting all his weight onto his hands and knees as he straddled her body, he nudged his cock into her opening, before thrusting forward, meeting with a little resistance, but not too much. Despite being asleep, Allison's body seemed to work autonomously, her hips tilting upwards to meet each thrust, and soon her own excitement was lubricating the walls. Moaning slightly, her lips parted as she let out his name in a gasp, and Scott couldn't even imagine what was happening in her dreams. She wet her bottom lip, and her hand flexed on her bed, gripping and releasing the sheets with every movement. Scott gritted his teeth, trying to stop himself from crying out the closer he got. It was a huge turn on - the idea that Allison had ended it, that she'd been a bitch to so many people lately, and now? It was Scott's turn to get things his way. He wanted her, he loved her, he knew that she loved him, so why shouldn't they want this? They would always belong to each other.

Just that thought alone, that he was having something that was so unobtainable right now, his head dipped into the sheets, cumming deep inside her. His arms gave up their effort, and shakily he lowered his body to the bed. It was a few moments before he pulled out, and he moved up to her head, holding his cock against her lips, already wanting more, and wanting to see just how far he could push things. A tongue tentatively licked at the head, before Scott pushed forward, the head slipping into her mouth. Unconscious, he soon found she was unable to suck, so instead, he fucked her mouth gently, getting harder once again. He considered pulling out and fucking her again, but seeing as she hadn't woke up yet, he kept his cock in her mouth, thrusting it rapidly. Her teeth brushed against his cock every time he pulled out, so it wasn't long before he was pulling out altogether, and with a cry, he fired his load over her eyelids, lips, and face, stream after stream of cum coating her. Afterwards, he put his cock back in his pants, and looked her over once again, covering her body up. She was still writhing, obviously dreaming about him, but now her face didn't look quite as angelic, her face thick with the white substance. Nevertheless, Scott dipped his head once more to kiss the top of her head, before leaving through the window again, not wanting to be caught by Allison, or even worse, her father.

A few seconds of silence, and once she was sure he wasn't coming back, a smile slipped tiredly onto Allison's face, and her tongue darted out to lick the cum from her lips.

* * *

**23.**  


 **Warnings:** dub-con  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** somnophilia and pegging  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Lydia

Lydia’s hand shakes as she reaches out and runs her fingers down Jackson’s back. He’s sound asleep on his belly; dead to the world from too many days of fighting for their lives. The near-death experiences involved in the supernatural world are not something Lydia enjoys, but she can’t deny she loves the aftermath. There’s not a single drop of energy left in Jackson’s body. Most importantly, not even an ounce of fight remains in his normally ironclad will. She cherishes these moments like the rare treasure they are. 

Nothing is rushed and she can take as much time as she wants exploring his body. Standing at the end of the bed she moves her hands to his calves, slowly massaging up his legs. When she reaches his ass cheeks she kneads them a few times before pulling them apart. After taking a deep breath she exhales over his exposed hole, relishing the way he moans and shifts in his sleep. He’s entirely wanton and not conscious enough to be prideful about it.

Unable to wait any longer Lydia crawls on the bed, strap-on cock bouncing between her legs. The leather straps rub against her hips making her restless. She strokes her cock a few times as she grabs the strategically placed lube from the nightstand. 

It’s been too long since she’s done this and her heart races with nervousness and anticipation as she finally presses two wet fingers to his hole. Eye fluttering closed, she hums in satisfaction as he lets her in; body sucking her fingers in as if it was made for this.

“You are so perfect and beautiful.” She bends down and whispers into the small of his back.

With agile fingers she works him open slowly. Jackson barely moves through it all. Only occasionally making soft mewls in his sleep and unconsciously pushing back onto her fingers like a needy pup. It’s a heady feeling; having such a headstrong and powerful creature subdued by the tips of her fingers.

When he’s ready she adds a third finger. Pushing in so slowly it’s nearly unbearable. There’s a throbbing between her legs that’s making it difficult to stay in control. It will be better if she waits though. With determined patience she expands her fingers out, pushing against the tight ring of muscles for a few seconds before relaxing again. Over and over she stretches him until wetness runs down her thighs and she whimpers in overwhelming need. 

 

It’s tempting to add a fourth finger, but she knows it would be risking waking him, so she pulls out instead.

Her entire body quivers as she slicks her cock. The weight of it feels heavy in her hand and the reality of what she’s about to do crashes over her like a violent wave. Swinging one leg over Jackson’s body she straddles his thighs and positions herself at his entrance. 

The sight of her cock sinking into his body is something she will never get used to. It rattles her to the bones. So overwhelming and incredible it’s a wonder she doesn’t come from that alone. He opens so perfectly for her, pulling her into his body until she’s fully seated. The world falls apart around her and she trembles with the picture he makes. 

Jackson moans in his sleeps and ruts into the bed. She knows he’s hard by now, seeking release even in his dreams. 

Gripping his hips to stabilize herself, she starts to slowly grind down into him. She fucks him slowly and thoroughly. Giving him what he needs but is never able to ask for. His body moves with her. Pushing back onto her cock, silently begging for more.

“So, so perfect.” She murmurs.

He tenses beneath her and then goes slack, sighing into his arm. There’s no doubt he’s going to be pissed about the sticky mess in the morning, but for now he’s content.

Careful not to hurt him she pulls out and flops down beside him on the bed. With one hand she pumps her cock and the other she snakes between her wet folds. There’s no time for patience, working herself furiously and not stopping until she shakes apart. Her release coats her fingers and she bites her lip to keep from screaming. For a while she lets herself float in bliss and contentment before finally drifting off into a sated sleep.

* * *

**24.**  
 **Warnings:** incest, non-con (drugged variety)  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** age-difference, somnophilia (kind of)  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Chris

Allison waited until her father had finished his third glass of whiskey before offering to get him a refill; a gesture of good will in a sea of silences and arguments over nothing. He nodded and handed her the tumbler, not taking his eyes off the fire. He was still unable to quite look her in the eye, but she didn't blame him. She filled the glass slowly, using the moment to slip the little vial out of her pocket and positioning it above the glass.

This was it. She could still stop, bury the fantasy in the very back of her mind, or work harder to repair what they had before, instead of – this. Allison looked back at her father, sprawled out on the couch, his arm over his eyes, illuminated by the firelight. Even now, looking more tired and older than she’d ever seen him, strung out on too little sleep, and too much caffeine and alcohol, he was the most stunning man she’d ever seen. She emptied the vial into the glass.

"Here you go." Allison handed him the glass and sat on the opposite side of the couch, legs curled up, watching him. He nodded and downed the glass in one big gulp. Allison had to look away.

She turned back, long minutes later, to find her dad watching her, his face illuminated by the flames, firelight dancing across his features. She had to wrap her arms tightly around her knees to stop from reaching out and touching right then. _Soon_. Her dad muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What, dad?"

"I’m sorry, Alli. So sorry." He reached out a hand and placed it on top of her knee, a feeble attempt at comfort, more for himself than for her, but she put her hand over his and twined their fingers together.

"Shh, dad. It's ok." Allison’s heart raced as she crawled across the couch and wrapped his arm around her, pressing close to his side. The heat radiating of her dad’s body made her dizzy, clamming up her hands as they itched to touch.

Allison waited until her dad’s breath evened out and his grip slackened before she moved again.

"Dad?" she tried.

No response.

_Finally._

Allison's whole body shook as she raised her hand to her father’s peaceful face. She traced each worry line and fresh wrinkle across his skin, then kissed his temples, his cheeks, his lips. She could no longer stop herself from pressing against him more firmly, straddling his lap.

She ran her hands across her dad's chest, once, before slowly undoing his shirt, mapping every inch of naked skin with her fingertips, committing it to memory, as her hips began stuttering, barely grinding down.

She could feel herself getting so wet, grinding in her dad’s lap with nothing but her loose shorts and his jeans separating them from exactly what Allison wanted. She lifted up on her knees and undid his belt, the buttons on his jeans, then maneuvered them and his boxers down, watching his half-hard cock slip out. Allison let her hand slip down his toned chest and skim along the hair until she wrapped her hand around him and began to pump. Fuck. He was thicker than Scott, and it made her mouth water.

But there was no time for that. She quickly stripped out of her clothes, and climbed back on top of her dad, loving the roughness of denim beneath her thighs, his chest hair against her breasts. She slid down around him easily, her pussy already dripping for him. It was perfect.

Allison kissed her father's slack, warm mouth, as she rubbed her body against his, rode him hard and fast. With every movement of her hips, her dad’s cock filling her up, her clit barely-grinding against his pelvis, she got closer and closer.

"Daddy," she finally gasped, the orgasm making her lose all control, shaking on top of her father, her pussy squeezing him tight.

She let herself rest before slipping down again, cleaning her juices off her dad's dick with her mouth, loving the taste of them together. She stayed naked as she pulled his pants back on, did his shirt back up, pushed him down on the couch, then covered him up with a blanket.

Allison picked up her clothes and leaned over her father once more, hoping the smell of sex dissipated by the time he awoke. She leaned down and brushed his hair back, kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, daddy."

* * *

**25.**  
 **Warnings:** underage, piss fetish  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** voyeurism, age disparity  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent, Lydia Martin

 **Title:** Everything You Ever Wanted

You can’t even claim it’s an accident.

After all, _you_ put the camera in the bathroom, tucked above the mirror, when you _knew_ she would be coming over. You claim it’s because she’s dangerous. Her friendship with Allison is an unknown quantity; you cannot risk your daughter being involved with the wrong elements. But in your heart, you know that isn’t it.

You know that you intended this all along.

When you hear Allison call out to her, you are already in front of the monitor. You can see most of the bathroom with the wide angle lens, from the toilet at one end to the door at the other. The sink in between is close to the camera.

You can’t be sure exactly what you will see, but you can guess.

You can hope.

She comes into the bathroom with a folded pile of clothes that she sets on the edge of the sink. She locks the door behind her. She doesn’t trust you. She has _never_ trusted you, and you smile because she is brilliant, yet you have outsmarted her.

She leans in close to the mirror, lips pursed, the lipstick bitten away, leaving them red and full. She undoes the clip in her hair and combs her fingers through it, untangling the strawberry blond strands.

When she sets her hands at the hem of her shirt, you can’t help it. Your hand covers your crotch, heel pressing down against the hard ridge, pushing into it. She tugs her shirt off slowly and drops it on the floor, then deftly undoes the clasp between her breasts to set those free. Her eyes close as she runs her hands over her body, nipples taut from the cold; you stroke along your covered dick as you watch her.

She has freckles, small dots on her skin that you will never be allowed to touch; from this angle you can imagine connecting them with your tongue. You can imagine the way her young skin would taste, and when she makes a small noise as she pinches her own nipples, you can imagine that you have caused it.

She makes quick work of her skirt, shimmying out of it and tossing a scrap of pink silk undies after it. The patch of hair at her crotch is as red as that on her head. She is absolutely unashamed of her nudity, proud in the way she looks and not bothering to cover up.

Why should she? She is alone, after all. Private. Safe.

You undo the button of your jeans and push the zipper down. You pull your hard dick out, sliding your palm along it. She has no idea you are watching, and you love seeing her innocence. Defiling it without her knowledge.

She settles on the toilet, spreading her legs slightly, relaxing and looking up at the ceiling. The sound from the microphone isn’t perfect, but you can hear when the stream begins, splashing into the basin below. 

You stroke your dick harder in response. 

After she finishes, she leans back, one foot on the edge of the toilet, the other braced against the wall. Her slit is visible, pink and shining as her fingers disappear into it.

She fucks herself while your daughter lies innocent in her bed, waiting for her friend. She will go back to Allison smelling of musk and sex.

You could help her. You could walk in there and stand over her, feeding your dick down her throat. You could fuck her face while her fingers dive deep, while she pushes her hand _just like that_ into her gleaming slit and twists against the feel of it. Your hand moves faster, driven by the way her body writhes, by the fingers at her nipple that pinch and pull it away from her body, leaving rough red marks over pale skin.

She cries out when she comes; you spill in your hand, droplets splashing on the monitor. She lies there, panting, while you reach for tissues and clean up the mess.

When she stands, she washes her hands quickly before leaning on the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror as if it might stare back at her. She only dresses right before she leaves the room, and you can hear her calling brightly for Allison.

You tuck yourself away and turn off the monitor. After all, you have morning to look forward to, when she is yours again.

* * *

**26.**  
 **Warnings:** Teacher/student...?  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Voyeurism, age disparity  
 **Pairing:** Finstock/Greenberg

Truth be told, there’s nothing Finstock loves more than coaching lacrosse.

“Come on, Greenberg, my grandma can cross-stitch faster than you move. Stilinski, my dog could run circles around you, and he’s only got three legs.”

Even Greenberg and Stilinski, despite the fact that they’re both seniors and still terrible.

After a few locker room incidents years ago, Finstock makes a point to ensure everyone’s safely gone at the end of the day. Usually he doesn’t find anyone, but today the sound of running water fills his ears. He’s about to start yelling when he’s stopped dead in his tracks by Greenberg. Naked, showering, and lazily jerking off.

Finstock opens his mouth to say...something, but the words catch in his throat.

He should leave, because Greenberg hasn’t noticed him yet. This isn’t just an invasion of privacy, it’s illegal. But then Greenberg moans, an obscene sound in the quiet of the locker rooms, and it goes straight to Finstock’s cock. A wave of pleasure and shame washes over him, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes won’t hurt, he tells himself. It’s harmless, as long as he leaves before Greenberg comes, doesn’t touch himself too. He presses back against the lockers, hiding in the partial shadows so his view is still good, but won’t be spotted.

But fuck, the noises Greenberg’s making, the way he strokes himself, is turning Finstock’s brain to mush, and without conscious thought, he finds he has one hand down the front of his jeans, rubbing himself through his underwear. It feels so fucking good, but he’s just trying to relieve some of the pressure, nothing more.

One of Greenberg’s hands trails to fondle his balls, rolling them between his fingers, before moving to press a finger inside himself. Finstock rubs against his crotch even harder, unable to stifle the soft moan that slips past his traitorous lips at the sight.

The air drains from Finstock’s lungs when Greenberg freezes, hand stilling on his cock as he turns, catches Finstock’s eyes for the first time. He stares, wide-eyed, then drops his gaze lower to Finstock’s open fly, proving himself more observant than Finstock ever gave him credit for.

_Fuck._

On a list of incredibly stupid things Finstock has done in his life, this might take the cake, because _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he’s watching one of his barely-legal students jerk off while he has a hand down his own pants.

He’s going to get fired, or worse, arrested. His family will disown him. His life is over.

“Coach?” Greenberg’s question cuts into his thoughts.

“I--” he starts, but for the first time ever, he’s at a loss for words. What can he even say?

For a brief, glorious moment, he considers running away. He can drive out to the airport, catch a flight to someplace warm, start a new life somewhere. Maybe Greenberg will think he imagined--

“Coach.” Finstock realizes for the first time that Greenberg’s turned off the shower, has moved toward him.

“I’m sorry. I should-- I should go.”

But Greenberg reaches out, catching his wrist. “Wait!”

Finstock freezes, blood running cold.

“I...” he continues, flushing from head to toe. “Can I see?” He makes a vague gesture with his chin.

For a second, Finstock’s sure he blacks out from shock. But then Greenberg starts moving his hand again, stroking himself with a firm grip, and Finstock feels his vision cloud, because this cannot be happening.

“Please, I want to see you too,” Greenberg begs, breathless, and Finstock realizes that this isn’t a fantasy, it’s _actually fucking happening_.

He only hesitates for a moment before pushing his jeans and underwear down enough to free his cock, thick and already leaking pre-come. He’s further encouraged by the soft “yes” that slips past Greenberg’s mouth, like he’s enjoying the view. Finally, Finstock gets a proper hand around himself and begins to stroke his cock in conjunction with Greenberg. Nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional enthusiastic moan fill the room as they watch each other jerk off.

Finstock is no teenager, and he knows he isn’t going to last long. But it isn’t until Greenberg flicks his wrist just so, coming with a loud cry and spilling over his hand and stomach, that Finstock feels his orgasm rip out of him with such intensity that he almost collapses.

“Get dressed, go home,” Finstock says eventually, sinking to the floor. When he finally moves again, Greenberg’s long gone.

* * *

**27.**  
 **Warnings:** Voyeurism, language  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles (one-sided)  
 **Trope:** Fingerfucking

Stiles has beautiful fingers. They're long, the bones wrought with hidden strength, and ridiculously expressive.

Although he would never admit it, Derek knows Stiles' fingers intimately: the press of his palm against Derek's bloody chest, the shapes he draws when he's shouting hysterically, the power in his fists when they connect with Derek's face.

As Derek stares through the slither of a gap in the curtains, he watches Stiles, draped naked on his bed, wrap a spit-wet hand around his cock and start to tug. His throat is exposed, thrown back and smooth to look at, and Derek can feel his fangs lengthen at the sheer thought of burying his teeth in Stiles' flesh.

Stiles' other hand, wet with lube, trails past his balls to finger at the edge of his hole. Derek bites down a whine at the same time as Stiles' choked moan, his heart drumming a frantic beat in Derek's ears.

"Fuck," Stiles breathes, and lets one of those wet, long fingers slide inside of him, and Derek can see, even with one eye through a hole between the curtains, the practised ease that Stiles takes it.

Derek's suspicions are confirmed when Stiles immediately adds a second finger, shoving in hard and fast, trying to bury himself as deep as possible. Noises fall out of his mouth, gradually getting louder, and his other hand tightens around his cock. "Yes," Stiles murmurs, and he sounds drugged, or drunk, or both, "fuck me, _yes_." He adds a third finger, gasping hoarsely at the burn, but maintaining a pace and mouthy commentary as he fucks himself on his hand.

Derek wants to break down the window, pin Stiles against the wall, and pound his arse until he can't walk for days and show him what a real fucking is.

"Fuck me," Stiles whines, and his fingers, those beautiful long fingers, press in one last time, hard and deep, and Stiles' eyes slam shut with a cry of, "fuck me, _fuck_ me, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," as he comes all over his hand, streams of white decorating his belly and thighs and arms.

Stiles slumps, breathing like he's running for his life. He starts to remove his fingers from his arse, wincing at the loss, then raises his come-drenched hand to his mouth. He starts to lick, one, two stripes up his fingers, before sucking them dry.

That's when he lifts his head, one finger still in his mouth, wrapped around red lips and moist with spit and come. Stiles looks right at the window, and it's as though he's staring straight at Derek, catching him red-handed.

With a lurching heart, Derek immediately jumps off the roof and flees in stealthy silence into the night. 

*

The next time they're together, Derek will meet Stiles' eyes. Even if he knows what Stiles' fingers are like buried in his arse; even if he's memorised the vision of Stiles coming all over himself; even if he's dreamt about _taking_ Stiles and making him his, fucking him with his fingers and then his cock while he sucks on Stiles' fingers - those lithe, clever, _dirty_ fingers that Derek wants on his skin now, always, _forever_.

But Stiles will always be an unattainable dream to Derek, a mistake he will never make. And so Derek will look at Stiles, this _ridiculous_ 16-year-old boy-not-yet-man, and Derek will growl, and snap, and roll his eyes, and it will be as everything should be.

* * *

**28.**  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Voyeurism, fingering  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Lydia, Danny

 

" _Jackson_ ," Lydia hisses, her eyes flying wide and her fingers digging dents into Jackson's arm. "You can't put your fingers _there_."

Jackson only smirks in response, flutters a kiss beneath the line of her jaw before he sucks a bruise against the skin there. "Relax," he murmurs, using that tone he does when he's feeling especially cocky, particularly smug. He shifts a little, one muscle-lined arm moving down from Lydia's hip to hold her mid-thigh. He lifts her leg up, presses it closer, his shoulders flexing sinewy and sinful as his other arm moves and--

" _Oh_ ," Lydia gasps, lips parting as the bones in her body seem to melt and she goes weightless, limp and pliant in his arms, beneath him. She spreads her legs a little bit more, she arches into his touch. The tightness in her face is gone, her chest heaving with the deep, near-orgasmic desperate breaths as Jackson continues, eyes closed and brows fervent. "Keep-- your finger-- there-- _there_ , oh god--"

***

Danny's in trouble, and fuck, on so many levels it's practically a Super Mario game.

He tucks himself in the corner of Jackson's closet (crack that joke and Danny will _end you_ , just throwing that out there) and tries to make himself as quiet as possible. He tries to distract himself, but Danny's never found it easy to ignore things, and Lydia-- fuck. Lydia's a loud fuck, okay?

He cringes when she moans again, overly loud and far too pornified in his opinion, and begins contemplating the many different ways Jackson can make it up to him because goddammit, this was _not_ how he'd expected to spend his afternoon of cheering his moping single best friend up, not at all.

" _Jackson_ \--"

"Fuck, god, yeah--"

Jackson's voice is thick with lust, tight with barely held restraint. It's the first time he's sounded like he isn't just trying to suavely maneuver his prick into Lydia's cunt, like a game he wants to win, and then he moans too, just a soft sound whispered into Lydia's ear and straight to Danny's cock, and Danny--

Danny's in trouble.

***

Lydia lays down, stretches like a cat, like a goddess, letting Jackson worship her with mouth and finger and tongue and cock. She arches her back to move close to his touch, pushes his head down, fingers curled in his hair, but Jackson shakes her off, lifts his head up, his own feral grin matching hers.

She mewls her discontent, but Jackson places his fingers in her lips.

"Suck," he tells her, and she raises an eyebrow-- she _must_ have had, this is Lydia after all, though he can't tell from the slatted door-- and does as he says. Her knee rises to brush against his inner thigh, against his cock, just half-mast and right _there_ , but he chuckles and pushes her knee back down. "Let me."

He pulls his fingers out with a pop, positions them between Lydia's legs. 

She murmurs his name-- it's just a whisper, a tendril of tenderness between them both-- slow and languid as the way he moves his arms, firming and flexing with every thrust and pull. He leans over her, his lips touching hers just the tiniest bit, a close-mouthed kiss of a start that coaxes her lips to part, her gaze to turn up to him. She cups his cheeks, pulls him close for a deeper kiss, murmurs something soft and muffled against Jackson's kiss, and this time it's Jackson's body that melts against hers, that folds into her arms.

"Me too," he says.

***

It's what makes Danny finally look away. 

* * *

**29.**  
 **Warnings:** underage, Dom/sub relationship  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** pegging  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Chris

They're both lonely.

They both need something.

They find each other.

Since Peter and all he did to her, since werewolves came out of fairy tales and fucked with her life, she needs to be in control of herself, of her surroundings, of her lover. Jackson was willing to give her only so much and not what she truly needed. His leaving was almost a relief.

Since Victoria's death, his father's betrayal, the near loss of his daughter, he needs to surrender, to lose control willingly, to let someone else be in charge. There is a reason he has always been seen as the perfect Argent male. He knows when to bow to a female authority.

How it started isn't important. What they give each other, is.

Chris winces at the ache in his knees. He's not young, and years of running over rough terrain have damaged the cartilage, but he doesn't complain.

The three slick fingers in his ass driving him to distraction and making his cock ache with need offset any discomfort.

Lydia hums softly to herself as she preps him. He told her once he could wear a plug, be open for her always, but she likes how tight he still is in the beginning, the little grunts he makes as she forces one beautifully manicured finger after another into him.

Her other hand is between her legs, idly playing with her clit, keeping herself on edge.

When she decides they're both ready, she removes her fingers and watches his stretched hole try to rebound. Smiling, she reaches for her toy and straps it on with the ease of familiarity.

This isn't the first time they've done this by a long shot, but it is the first time in over a month that Chris has gone without any restraints. Usually he wants her to tie him to the iron headboard, not because he's afraid he'll fight her off, but because he's afraid he'll fight himself. Tonight his hands are braced on the mattress as he waits.

Lydia can see he's in a good place--the look on his face one of both desire and contentment. She did that to him. That makes her feel powerful.

Slicking up the dildo, its base nudging her clit just right, she leans forward and asks, "Ready?" because she doesn't want to hurt him. Pain isn't their goal here.

"Yes," he grunts, as she requires a verbal response, and his body quivers with a need that goes much deeper than sexual desire.

Slowly she pushes the head of the dildo into him, watching as his rim spreads around it, always amazed that he can take it. At first, she offered a smaller, slimmer toy, but he needed something much bigger.

He needs to feel it, to feel taken.

As she bottoms out, Lydia rubs her clit against the nubby base and moans softly. Her hands take Chris' hips, her blunt nails biting in, and she presses forward harder, then pulls back and fucks in again.

Breath driven from him, cock leaking onto the bedding, Chris falls to his elbows which lifts his ass a bit higher. The angle change rubs the fake cock against his prostate, makes his balls tighten, and then her hand is wrapping tightly around the base of his dick.

"Not yet," she breathes and fucks him again and again.

He doesn't beg--he never begs. If he comes, it's her decision and he gratefully gives her that power.

As she strokes into him, Lydia strokes his shaft. Fucking him harder, her pelvis slaps his ass, and she loves that sound. As she feels her orgasm approaching, her thighs begin to shake and sweat beads across her breasts and stomach, but she wants to see him fall apart first. Her grips loosens, her fingers tease across the slit of his cock and she moans, "Come."

In hard shudders, Chris does, spilling over his stomach. Panting harshly into a pillow, he lets his body relax, his mind go blank, and it's all so good.

With a stutter of her hips, Lydia comes as well, with hard shoves of the dildo against his overly sensitive prostate. He whimpers and she slumps over him for a moment, before pulling out and kneeling beside him.

Slowly Chris lowers to his belly, into the mess that dripped onto the bed, and he feels safe.

Lydia's hand strokes over his back, her lips brush his shoulder, and she feels strong.

* * *

**30.**  
 **Warnings:** dub-con (fuck or die trope)  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** fingerbanging, felching, somnophilia  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Allison/Erica, Derek/Stiles

He could see two pairs of bare feet sticking out of the backseat of the jeep, rubbing together, one set of toes curling while the other flexed. The engine was still cooling, the low ticking in contrast to the sound of Stiles sobbing his release. Derek grunted and swore when he clearly followed after. Scott was glad he couldn't see more of them; happy he'd been in the backseat, squished between Allison and Erica when they'd been hit with whatever this was, or else that would've been him fucking his best friend.

"Hurry up, Scott," Allison moaned from the ground. The girls were both already naked, lying in the grass on the side of the road, Erica propping Allison up from behind. He'd looked away, at first, when the realization was filtering into his muzzy brain that this was what they had to do. It was Erica, someone he really didn't care about, and his ex-girlfriend. First time they'd spoken in months, and now…

Erica moved two fingers inside of Allison. They squelched, she was so wet. All he could smell was the two of them, the dampness glistening on Erica's thighs from when Allison knelt between them. The way her jaw moved – it was like she was eating fruit. Something delicate and sweet, like ripe berries. When Erica moaned, her hips stuttering up, Stiles and Derek commandeered the backseat.

"Rear in gear, McCall," Erica demanded, looking up at him and licking her lips. He shrugged out of his pants and underwear and knelt before them.

"Allison—"

"Just fucking get in there!" Erica drew her fingers out with a slurping sound. Allison yanked at his arm, and he fell into her. She turned her head away, her mouth seeking Erica's breast, and sucked on the nipple. Her cheeks hollowed, like they used to when she'd blow him, and he braced himself with one arm so we could caress her face. Erica gasped.

Over at the jeep, Scott could see Derek's naked back, Stiles' toes curled around the edge of the seat as Derek sucked his dick. Stiles was mumbling, the words illegible in his exhaustion. Everyone was waiting on Scott.

He thrust in harder, making Allison's mouth drop open with a moan, Erica's breast sliding out with a _pop_. The nipple was slick with spit, right at level with his mouth. He kissed it almost delicately before sucking it in. Allison came with a surprised grunt, clenching around him, and he followed after into blissful oblivion.

***

He thought that was the end of it, but the next day, his skin itched all through school. Stiles was pale and quiet. Scott wanted to ask him if he was okay, if his skin was on fire, but he wound up fucking Allison in a supply closet by the gym, not even stopping when the door was yanked open behind them.

It was Erica, and the second he came, she pushed him away. Her hands pulled Allison wider apart as she shoved her face right into Allison's crotch, frantically licking away every trace of him, moaning as if she loved the taste of them together. Scott stared at her, the way her breasts heaved and her thighs rubbed together, until Erica looked up at him, her face a mess of smeared makeup, spunk and juice.

"What?" she croaked.

The Camaro was parked outside the school when Scott stumbled out. The car rocked gently back and forth, an affirmative answer to his unspoken question.

***

He tried to go to sleep that night, and managed to doze off around two in the morning. He dreamed about wet heat and woke up to Erica's lips around his cock. Pre-come was already dribbling out. He blinked, the shape of Allison coming into focus behind Erica, stretching her ass cheeks apart, her fingers dripping with lube.

"Come on, Scott," Allison whispered. "We need this."

Erica pulled her mouth away from his dick and licked her lips. "Mount up, cowboy," she said sardonically, wiggling her hips.

He pushed into her from behind, slowly as she panted and swore, and then Allison slithered in between their legs. He imagined he could feel her tongue touching him, separated only by the thin walls inside Erica's body.

"More," Erica chanted. He gripped her hips and pressed down. Allison's mouth trembled with the force of it.

And maybe they would never break the spell, but he couldn't worry about that right now. All he could do was fuck.

* * *

**31.**  
 **Warnings:** Highschool AU, sib-cest, threesome, underage, possessive behaviour, felching,  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** felching  
 **Pairing:** Laura/Derek/Stiles

**Break out the Folgers**

Stiles crashes into the locker beside Scott’s, bursting with news. “I just touched _Laura Hale’s_ boob.”

“Yeah, right. You’d be dead.”

“Okay, it was an accident. But it still happened.”

\---

When it happens again, Laura’s not so forgiving. He was rushing around a corner, late for English and scrambling to stuff his notebook in his bookbag. Laura was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Oh shit.”

Her eyes narrow and his hand is most definitely on her boob.

He snatches it back, scrambling away from her. “I swear it was an accident this time.”

“ _This_ time?”

“Both times!” Stiles winces at the squeak in his voice. That hasn’t happened to him for at least a year. “Please don’t get your brother to kill me.”

Laura may be average height for a high school senior girl but her glare could make a grown man cower. And Stiles, a lowly sophomore, shrinks down the wall as she leans in. “What makes you think I’d need Derek for that?”

“I-- what? No. Girl power and all that.” God, it sucks that his dick reacts to death threats like it’s porn dialogue. “I’m sure you could. All by yourself.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Laura says. Stiles just nods, star struck that she’s even talking to him. “I think doing it _with_ my brother would be even more fun.”

The sound Stiles makes is strikingly similar to a whimper. If Laura catches the double entendre she just made, it doesn’t show. Which is good because the heat in Stiles’ face means he can’t even deny where his mind just went.

Laura grins and it’s all teeth. “I like you, Stiles.”

As she walks away Stiles shouts, “You know my name?”

\---

Laura knows more than his name. She’s waiting outside his house the next morning, offering to drive him to school.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says as he’s climbing into the backseat of the Camaro, a little weak-kneed. “Nice jacket. Very bad boy.”

Derek scowls at him until Laura’s rubs the back of her hand along Derek’s cheek. He calms visibly and Stiles shifts awkwardly in the back seat, trying not to stare at the siblings’ entwined hands.

 

\---

“The way those Hales look at you, dude...”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Scott shrugs, blushing. “It’s like they’re going to eat you.”

Stiles scratches the back of his neck, trying to hide his smile. He’s suddenly hot all over. It’s impossible not to notice what’s been happening the last few weeks: Laura rubbing her nose into Stiles’ jaw when she drops him off after school; Derek slamming Jackson up against the wall for calling Stiles a loser.

The whole school knows Stiles is now Hale property.

\---

Laura’s sprawled out on the bed that takes up most of the apartment she shares with her brother. Derek hovers in the corner, more fidgety than usual.

There’s no second bedroom; Stiles sits with his hand hiding his crotch.

“He’s not ready.” Derek’s voice breaks the quiet like a slap, unexpected and impossible to ignore.

“Stiles?” Laura’s legs spread. Stiles can see her pink panties up her skirt. “You ready?”

Stiles looks between the two most frightening, most beautiful people he’s ever met. Let’s be real; he can’t get his clothes off fast enough.

\---

“I can’t--” Stiles gasps. Laura’s so fucking wet. Her legs are wrapped around him, urging him faster. He’s not going to last. “Shit.”

“Come inside me.”

He slams in, his body wrecked, trembling. He can’t believe they convinced him to forgo the condom, but as he empties himself, making Laura sloppy-full with his jizz, he can’t regret it. After a minute, his arms can’t hold him up and he rolls off.

“Watch and learn, kiddo,” she says and shoots a look over her shoulder at Derek. Her finger’s working her clit; Stiles can see his come start to dribble out and mess the sheets.

Then Derek’s _right there_ with his head buried between Laura’s legs. He’s spreading her wide; her thigh brushes against Stiles’ softening cock. Derek’s attacking her pussy, making hungry, wet sounds as he sucks Stiles’ come from inside her. Laura arches her back and twists her hands into the sheets, crying out her brother’s name.

Afterwards, Derek kisses Stiles for the first time. His mouth is still filthy. His tongue slips in so Stiles can taste the flavour the three of them make together. It’s bitter and sweet, unexpectedly perfect.

* * *

**32.**  
 **Warnings:** Underage. Possible dub-con.  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Fingerbanging, hair removal, voyeurism.  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Isaac/Derek

By the time Erica reached up to the station, mascara-stained tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

“Derek!” she wailed, but he was already bounding out of the train car, Isaac a cautious shadow behind him. 

“What happened?” Derek asked,. 

Erica shook her head, still crying. _It’s okay,_ she assured the part of her that was still a nervous virgin. _They’re Pack._ In one move, she stripped it over her head, her breasts bouncing with the motion. She hadn’t bothered putting on a bra.

For a second, they both just stared at her bare breasts and stomach. Isaac licked his lips. Derek’s eyes swept over her skin like he was searching for hidden wounds. Erica felt the sniffles start again.

“I have a pelt!” 

Isaac frowned, leaning in to see the fine, blonde hair on her breasts and stomach. “Huh. I guess you do.”

“We’re wolves,” Derek said with a shrug. “It used to happen to Laura.” 

“ _You_ don’t have a pelt.”

Derek actually smiled, reaching for her hand. “Come here,” he said. Erica let him lead her into the train, her top still crumpled in one hand and Isaac trailing behind them.

* * *

The wax burned when Derek dripped it onto her stomach, and Erica squirmed. Since becoming a werewolf, her relationship with pain had changed. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it still sent a low tingle running through her spine. In the doorway behind him, Isaac adjusted his pants. Their eyes met, and Isaac swallowed, glancing towards the door in silent question. Erica hesitated, then shook her head. 

Derek’s hand slid low on her hip, stretching the skin taut. He ripped the muslin off, and Erica cried out. But the hot drip of wax was already starting again, and her skin tingled as the slight burn healed.

By the time Derek cupped her breast in one hand, she was a squirming mess. He cradled it, one thumb skirting over her nipple. She shuddered.

“You like that.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Derek glanced over her shoulder, jerking his chin at Isaac. “A little help?” 

Erica’s breath caught in her throat. Part of her thought about protesting, but Derek’s thumb was rubbing her nipples, and Erica mentally growled at it to shut up. When Isaac slid in behind her, his erection pressed against her ass. His smaller hands replaced Derek’s, kneading her breast.

The trickle of hot wax on her breast was exquisite. When Derek ripped offthe strip, she actually groaned, grinding back against Isaac. Derek glanced up through his lashes, then pressed his open mouth to the reddened patch of fragile skin. At the same time, one of Isaac’s hands squirmed around to the waistband of her sweatpants. 

She caught his hand, dragging it beneath the elastic. He found her clitoris through her damp panties, and she gasped, low and broken. The hot burn of wax dripped over her other breast, and she whimpered, head falling back against Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac’s fingers slid inside the elastic leg band, touching her where she was damp and aching. She giggled in nervous, breathless joy as his hand curled and he drove two fingers into her. 

“Fuck!” 

She ground down into the touch, trembling as he found that place inside her that she always aimed for when she touched herself late at night. His fingers rubbed over her g-spot, again and again, and she closed her eyes, shuddering, feeling weightless and electric. Then Derek ripped the muslin, and she screamed, arching her back as she clenched around Isaac’s hand.

When she came back to herself, Isaac’s fingers were still working her, and his erection was rubbing against her ass in little, desperate circles. Erica pushed her hair away from her hot face, still trembling, and met Derek’s eyes as he threw the used muslin strip behind him. He smiled again, low and private, and reached for her sweats, drawing them down over her hips, exposing Isaac’s hand curled over her dripping pussy.

She heard the bashful, virgin part of her say, “I don’t want either of you to fuck me.” She had someone else in mind for that, and a new wave of wetness spilled over Isaac’s fingers as she thought about Boyd’s body arching over hers. 

“That’s okay,” Derek said, and bent to lick her juices from Isaac’s straining fingers. “We can still think of plenty to do. Isn’t that right, Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Isaac groaned, as he slid another finger into her. 

Erica laughed shakily, and opened to them.

* * *

**33.**  
 **Warnings: D/s**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used: pegging, implied voyeurism**  
 **Pairing: Lydia/Derek/Stiles**

Lydia trails a finger along the line of his naked shoulder, skin smooth and taut over powerful muscles. She can feel the minute shift of his body under her hand, but he stays exactly where she put him: kneeling naked in the middle of the room, outstretched hands resting on his spread thighs, back straight and head bowed.

There's a noise behind her. Lydia smiles to herself ruefully. She could never teach that one to keep still. He's twitchy, insolent and smart-mouthed, but quick and so eager. She beckons to him with one finger. "Come here, Stiles."

His feet make a soft sound on the plush carpet as he sinks down to his knees beside her. He's naked like Derek and she can see he is hard already. She strokes an affectionate hand through his hair. "This is Derek," she says. "He's for you."

Stiles looks up at her with wide, startled eyes. "For me?"

"Yes." She smiles. "Do you like him?"

Stiles swallows. "He's beautiful," he breathes.

"Derek," she says, sliding one hand around his neck and curling her fingers around his throat, palm resting against the smooth leather of his collar. "This is Stiles."

She motions for Stiles to face Derek, and he eagerly shuffles in front of him, flushed cock bobbing between his thighs. Lydia's lips twitch. 

When Stiles is settled, she tilts up Derek's head with just the barest pressure against his throat. "Open your eyes," she murmurs. "Look at him." Lydia can see the moment Derek obeys in the way Stiles' face changes. There's a light in his eyes and his lips curl in a soft smile as if to say 'hi, hello there'. 

"Stiles," she says, and his eyes snap to her instantly. "Help me put on the harness."

Stiles' hands are reverent on her body as he slides off her robe and fits her into her favorite harness, fingers sure on the buckles and leather straps so they lay nice and snug against her skin.

They move to bracket Derek, Stiles kneeling in front of him and Lydia at his back. There's a sheen of sweat on Derek's skin now, like it's getting harder to stay still. Good, Lydia thinks as she slides one hand back into his hair, gripping tightly and pulling his head back as she presses her hips against his ass, dragging the head of the strap-on over his hole again and again and again until Derek can't help pushing back. Derek's skin feels feverish against her bare breasts and his hole is already wet and stretched perfectly for her cock to slide into him smoothly. Next time she'll let Stiles prepare Derek, working him loose with those long, slender fingers of his, instead of putting him in a corner to watch.

Stiles is bracing Derek, fingers curled around his biceps, keeping him upright while Lydia slides her cock in and out of Derek's body, steady and precise. She doesn't need to see Derek's face to read his pleasure, everything written in the sinuous curve of his body and the glazed look on Stiles face, lips parted and cheeks flushed a blotchy red.

"You can kiss him," she murmurs. Stiles nods slowly, eyes never leaving Derek's face. "Stiles," she says, putting command into her voice, and he jerks and blinks at her like he just woke from a dream. He licks his lips and swallows, slowly raising one hand to cradle Derek's cheek against his palm. Derek's head moves into the touch without hesitation, and Lydia slides her hand over Stiles' on Derek's cheek, thumb brushing a gentle caress against Derek's neck. Stiles looks at her over Derek's shoulder, his smile tremulous and brilliant, before leaning in towards Derek, eyes falling close at the last moment.

They kiss and kiss and kiss and Derek grows restless and tense under her hands. She grips his hips and fucks into him harder, faster, her hair falling into her face and clinging to her sweaty skin. She wants Derek to come just from this, the sensation of her cock pushing into him deep and sweet, her mouth against the back of his neck and Stiles murmuring in his ear, praising him "so good, you're doing so good, _Derek_ ," surrounded by them, close and safe, and cradled in their arms.

Derek is panting now, swaying in place and moaning helplessly, utterly gone and radiant with it. "Come for us," she breathes against his skin, and he shudders and arches and comes.

* * *

**34.**  
 **Warnings:** forced-feminization, bondage  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** gender-roleplay  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Stiles

"Well, well what do we have here?" Peter asked, looking at Stiles spread out on the bed. "Aren't you a wanton little bitch?”

The boy glared at him wordlessly - not surprising, considering the gag in his mouth - and pulled at the fur lined handcuffs securing his arms to the headboard.

Peter smirked, knowing very well that Stiles was just playing coy, the foolish child had a problem with admitting his desires, so naturally someone had to take the reins from time to time to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of. Peter unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up to his elbow, more for show than anything practical; he didn’t plan on getting dirty this early in the game. He was glad to see that it had the desired effect as Stiles followed his movements with eyes much more eager than his sullen face would indicate.

Peter sat down by the boy’s hip, smiling at the slow flush travelling down his lover’s chest toward his half-hard cock. It was amazing how worked up Stiles could become without even a touch. That was something he planned to fully explore tonight.

“You know how much I love to hear your voice, darling,” he started, noticing Stiles blinking at the pet-name “but to be honest, I’m a firm believer that good little girls shouldn’t talk back to their betters.”

It was most amusing to see his boy’s face grow red with annoyance and probably a healthy dose of indignation on the part of the female gender, but the air was still filled with the thick fragrance of arousal and from the corner of his eye Peter could see his cock twitch.

“I think it’s time someone reminded you of your place, hm?” He traced the lips stretched over the gag carefully with a fingertip, ignoring Stiles’s badly repressed moan at the contact. “You can be such a handful, and I had enough of this unseemly behaviour. You will have to relearn what it means to be a woman.”

His hand travelled lower, caressing the mole-dotted skin with the back of his fingers until he reached Stiles nipple. He rubbed at it for a bit.

“You like that don’t you? Girls like you have very sensitive tits... Look at it, I barely touched it and your cute little nipple is already hard as a diamond. Does it feel good?” He looked up to Stiles face, only to see that his eyes were closed and he was blushing so hard that Peter was almost worried about him popping a blood vessel. 

“Look at me, slut!” he ordered, and the boy snapped to attention. “I asked you a question. Do you like it when people tease your teats?” Stiles just blinked at him with a glazed expression. Peter rolled his eyes and leaned closer to him, twisting the already over-sensitive nipple between his fingers. He was rewarded by a high pitched whine. 

“Oh, you love it, don’t you? I bet you could come with just me sucking on them. I bet you would even start lactating if I did it every day, hm?” Stiles looked at him with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but his rock hard cock jumping in excitement against his stomach told a different story.

Peter smiled. He left the boy’s chest alone, and pushed his legs apart. Stiles was lubed up - he had a thing about doing it himself before he came over to Peter’s apartment so they could start immediately - and Peter wasn’t about to just look that over.

“My, my. Just a bit of attention to your tits and you’re already soaking wet down here. You really are a little bitch.” He pushed in two fingers in one go, watching as Stiles arched off the bed.

“Is it good? Is your pussy ready for me?” He leaned closer to the boy, alternating between biting his earlobe and whispering in his ear.

“You have a hungry cunt,” Peter commented as he started to move his fingers, hard and fast. “I bet it would suck my come right up. Maybe I won’t use a condom today, I will shoot straight into your sweet little pussy and knock you right up...” 

Stiles body went completely rigid in his hands - and on his fingers - as he came and Peter relentlessly massaged his prostate through the aftershocks. 

Maybe next time he could fuck Stiles through the fantasy...

* * *

**35.**  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging, fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Danny

 

They both missed Jackson, both needed the connection. 

Lydia looked up from between Danny’s legs where she fucked her fingers into his tight hole; she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that the last person to do this was Jackson. She licked her lips and fucked faster. 

“Did he do it like this?” she hissed. She slowed, pulled out, then added a fourth. “Say it.”

“No,” Danny gasped. He spread his legs further apart and pushed back onto her fingers. “He fucked me. He fucked me until I screamed.”

Lydia stopped and pulled her fingers out, “Well, we’ll just have to see if I can top that then.”

She looked over at the dildo with the attached harness and bullet vibrator; smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder. Danny propped himself on his elbows and followed her gaze. He sat up and pulled it close, dropped it between them. He nudged her ass with his heel and waited until she looked back at him. “We can stop if you want.” 

“You’re right,” she grabbed the dildo and sat back. “We can.”

Danny nodded and watched her look at the tube of lube. “So you’re just gonna--”

“It’s what Jackson did, right?”

Danny swallowed and felt hurt war with excitement. “Yeah. But,” at her look he swallowed and ran his hand along the hard plastic. “He fucked my mouth first.”

He cocked an eyebrow. _Challenge._

She slipped the harness over her thighs and adjusted her fauxcock, shifted it until the vibrator sat against her already wet clit. She moved up his body, purposely letting her cock slide over his, until she straddled his shoulders. She smirked and nudged the tip against his mouth. _Accepted._

“Then I guess you better open your mouth.”

He grinned and wet his lips, let his tongue brush her fauxcock. He kept his eyes on hers and wrapped his lips around the tip, used his hands on her ass to push her in. He licked along the dildo, wet the hard cock. Lydia slid her fingers along side the cock and laughed when Danny’s tongue moved from the plastic to her fingers. She pulled off, leaned back on her heels and wiped her thumb over his mouth. She leaned down and kissed him. “Now. Turn over, Mahealani.”

Danny shivered at the tone, at the kiss. Jackson used to say, do, the same thing and he couldn’t stop himself from pushing up and knocking Lydia onto her back. He grabbed her ass and groaned when their cocks bumped, then again when his fingers dipped between her cheeks. She was softer than Jackson, her body melting into his and he hated her for it. But he couldn’t stop himself from jerking his hips against hers.

She rolled her hips again then pushed him back, waved her finger in a circle. “I’m not asking again.”

Danny turned around, set his knees apart, looked over his shoulder and smirked. “You sure you know what to do? It’s a bit differe--”

Lydia growled, slapped his ass and slid in; and Danny froze. “God, warn a--”

Lydia still and draped herself over his back. She whispered into his ear, “I thought you wanted it to hurt.”

Danny pushed back until he was flush against her and Lydia leaned back. 

“Move,” he grunted. She grinned, flipped the vibrator on and shook her head. “Not yet.”

She let the feeling, the vibrations, move over her. Then she moved. She thought of the times Jackson had fucked her; a little too hard and a little too fast, and she moved like he had. 

Danny moaned, he pushed into her rhythm. Every time she fucked into him, the vibrator slid against her. Danny moved his hand to his cock and Lydia spanked him again, “Not yet.”

She fell over him, snapped her hips against his and felt her orgasm build. She wrapped her hand around his cock and mouthed the side of his neck. “I want you to think of me when you come.”

She jacked her hand faster, set it to the rhythm of her thrusts and vibrations, and held her orgasm until she felt his cock thicken. She felt his cum spill over her hand and she came as he groaned. Then she collapsed over him, her hair stuck to her shoulders and back. 

“Pull out,” Danny grunted into the pillow, then sighed when she did. He turned to her and smiled. “I miss him too.”

Lydia stared at the ceiling and nodded.

* * *

**36.**  
 **Warnings:** Dub con, unsafe sex  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Somnophilia, small dick kink, uncircumcised dick kink  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

Derek wakes to find Stiles asleep and clinging to his chest. It's becoming a habit for the new wolf to sneak into his bed at night—not that Derek blames him—everyone is intimidated by Peter, and Stiles is still so vulnerable. He gives into the impulse to finger Stiles' hair. In all the nights he's crept under his sheets, Derek has never dared touch him, but then, this is the first time Stiles has cozied up to him instead of scrunching against the wall. He wonders how someone so mouthy can be so shy—during the day Stiles avoids making eye contact with him, blushing whenever Derek catches him staring. 

It's been so long since Derek has taken a mate, but now, tangled up in each other like lovers, it seems almost natural when he kisses Stiles' lips open and licks into his mouth. Stiles murmurs something in his sleep and winds his arms around Derek's neck. Damn. Of his smell Derek can't get enough, and he buries his face in Stiles' neck as he rocks them gently together, toying with the elastic on Stiles' underwear and slipping his fingers beneath. Stiles is so willing and pliant like this and Derek wants nothing more than to lick the soft furrow of his ass until he's loose enough for Derek to push his cock inside. The thought makes his balls hitch. 

He rolls Stiles onto his back and draws away the blanket, watching hungrily as the drag of the material hardens Stiles' nipples into small peaks. After planting a kiss on his belly, Derek slides Stiles' underwear down to reveal his shrunken prick lying against his thigh, the foreskin gathered protectively over the head. Derek wants a taste of him just like this, fresh and perfect.

He takes Stiles' soft dick into his mouth and tongues the silken folds of skin lining his shaft. Sucking carefully, Derek slides his lips around the tip until Stiles' small prick almost slips from his mouth, and then swallows him down again greedily. He tastes musky and slightly sweet from the last time he'd come, and Derek, eager to lick Stiles clean, laps up the flavor. 

As Stiles hardens, Derek coaxes the head of Stiles' prick out of the foreskin and slides his tongue in the slit where precome is freshly dripping. He hesitates only a moment before toying with Stiles' hole, and when he slips in the tip of his finger, Stiles stirs. Not yet in control of his limbs, Stiles tugs weakly at Derek's hair and moans his name in blissful disbelief, spurring Derek on with cries that grow dangerously loud. The thought that the pack might overhear, might _know_ what Derek is doing, floods him with lust, and he flips them over and straddles Stiles over his face.

"Fuck my mouth," he orders. 

Stiles' eyes go wide in surprise, but he does what he's told. With one hand supporting his weight on the pillow and the other feeding his dick between Derek's parted lips, Stiles pumps his hips hesitantly, seeking permission. Even fully hard, Stiles' dick is no bigger than a mouthful, and Derek can take a lot more. He grabs Stiles' ass and drives his thrusts fast and deep until he's half-choking on cock. 

"S'perfect," Derek slurs, spit dripping from his mouth as he watches Stiles, his face strained and eyes hooded, moving over him. He wants to make Stiles come apart, he wants to _ruin_ him, so he slicks his finger with his own precome and pushes into Stiles' tightly clenched asshole. Shocked, Stiles loses his rhythm and rams himself too hard into Derek's mouth, but soon he's arching back, wanton, seeking more of Derek's eager finger, grinding his hips to get Derek nice and deep. 

"Jesus... Stiles, I had no idea..." Derek gasps between thrusts. Stiles' dick is shuddering dangerously in his mouth, and Derek, knowing he's close, too, jerks his own cock in demanding tugs, imagining what it would feel like to sink inside Stiles' tight ass, to stretch Stiles' rim until he'd accommodate Derek's massive girth. Just as he's about to lose control, he crooks his finger inside Stiles, who, releasing a stunned cry, shoots hot come over Derek's lips. Before Stiles can catch his breath, Derek joins their mouths and forces him to kiss away his stain. 

When they finally come apart, Stiles looks embarrassed but sated. He curls up in Derek's arms. 

"You'll never get me out of your bed now."

* * *

**37.**  
 **Warnings:** potentially some (mild mild) breathplay  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** clothes sharing, gender roleplay  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Stiles

Erica has never minded the way Stiles dresses. She liked him before he'd ever noticed her, or before anyone had noticed him; when they were both wearing things too baggy for their frames, trying to hide.

But she's moved beyond that, to bigger and better things, and she thinks it's time Stiles did too.

"Alright but, when you said you wanted to give me a fashion makeover, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Stiles says.

"What were you expecting?" she asks, lacing him up.

"Dunno," he says. "A shopping trip, definitely, some embarrassingly tight shirts and jeans, maybe you'd do my makeup afterward. Something twinky and emo, eyeliner maybe."

"We could do the makeup if you wanted to," Erica says, magnanimous.

"Sure, whatever," Stiles says. "All I mean is, it's just a little weird that you're dressing me in _your_ clothes. The makeover atmosphere is lacking."

She snorts and braces one fist against his back to pull the corset tight. The tension of the laces drags a little gasp from the back of Stiles' throat that she likes very much.

"You have a great figure," she says. "My clothes are good for playing up exactly that. Don't knock 'em."

"Wasn't," he says, and then wiggles his shoulders a bit. "Huh. This is surprisingly comfortable."

"Right?" she says, selecting a different set of laces this time, and pulls again.

When they've got it all snug and closed up around Stiles' waist, she's almost purring with contentment at the look on his face. His monologue has gone slow and murmury, his hands coming up to graze the silk as he blinks. She digs her fingers into the done-up laces of the corset and tugs, firm; a hard breath punches out of Stiles as he stumbles backwards into the heat of her body.

"I like this," she says, digging her chin into his shoulder and dragging her hand up his front. Her fingers happen upon the gape at the top where her boobs usually get pushed up. Stiles is flat, of course; she wanders a hand into the empty space and traces carefully around a nipple. "If only you had a little chest to fill this out."

"I don't know, it's kinda hot," Stiles says, watching her hand.

She trails her finger back up the center of his chest, through the fine scrub of hair, to the little hollow at his throat—all the way up his neck until she's tipping his head back and cupping his jaw. He's trembling a bit.

"Um, Erica," he says.

"Yeah," she says, pressing her lips lightly to his bare shoulder.

"Were you planning for this makeover to turn into me coming in my pants, because I swear to god I could really—"

She laughs.

Stiles does not come in his pants. She gets him out of them, firstly, and then gets rough with him—because she can, and because the noises he makes in pleasure and halfhearted protest are so expressive.

"Nnno—" he says as she pushes him face first against the cold wall, and then "ah fuck, fuck" as she grips his cock and strips it. He grinds his temple against the wall and braces his hands there, spreading his legs so she has room to work. She takes that space—steps in right behind him and folds all along his back, burying her nose at the nape of his neck, and doesn't stop the motion of her hand until he's straining, fighting back against her, and finally coming all over her wrist.

It's easy to twist his body as she wants, with the whole of him packaged up tight in her corset. He's sweetly limp, flushed all the way from his hairline to where the skin of his chest disappears under the silk.

"I don't give makeovers for free, you know," she says.

"I can pay you back," he says drowsily, eyes fluttering open. "Could I buy the corset off you, too?"

"I only take payment in orgasms," she says, and grins.

He grins right back, sharp. "S'fine. Wanna cash it in with fingers, or tongue?"

"It'll be pretty expensive," she says, and leans in for a kiss. "It'll probably take both. In multiple installments."


	3. Group C (with warnings)

**38.**  
 **Warnings: None**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used: Clothes sharing**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

If he were being honest, it all started that first year, when Stiles called him Miguel and told Derek to put one of Stiles's shirts on. It sat in the back of his brain for two years after that, a quiet whisper he scarcely acknowledged. But they're fucking now, and its brought it all back out.

Sometimes, when they're lazing in bed afterwards and Derek needs to get up, he'll choose Stiles's shirt instead of his own from the tangle of clothes they've left discarded on the floor, or he'll forgo a shirt altogether and pull on Stiles's boxers. They fit more like boxer briefs on him, and poorly at that, but Derek kind of likes it that way. He likes when the seam of Stiles's boxers dig into his over-sensitized cock. It reminds him off what they have together. They don't fit either, not really. Not easily. Buy they make it work all the same.

It doesn't go any further than that for another six months, until the day Derek's heat goes out. They huddle together under the covers, the one warn, comfortable place in the whole apartment. Derek's wearing Stiles's shirt from a brief, hurried excursion to the bathroom, so when Stiles shifts above him and clears his throat, looking longingly toward the kitchen like he does when he's thirsty but unwilling to leave bed, Derek says, "I'll get it."

"Nuh uh." Stiles scrambles up quickly. "You have to stay here and keep the sheets warm so I can defrost when I get back." He clambers out of bed and immediately starts shivering. "Balls, it's cold!" And before Derek can say a word, he snatches Derek's jacket off the floor, shrugs it on, and dashes across the apartment. He howls when carpet gives way to linoleum beneath his bare feet, the water runs briefly, and then he's back. He practically dives back into the bed, tucking his frigid feet against Derek's legs and shivering pointedly, as though this is all Derek's fault.

Derek might be more sympathetic, but Stiles is filling the bed with the smell of leather and skin and Derek is petty sure his brain has short circuited. He rolls over, pinning Stiles on his back so Derek can look at him, the contrast between black leather and pale skin, the way the stripe of bared flesh down Stiles's middle leads Derek's eye directly to his cock, which is already starting to stiffen beneath Derek's scrutiny.

It's an invitation too tempting for Derek to ignore. He grips Stiles's arms to keep him down, shivering at the feel of leather beneath his hands instead of skin, and bends low to swallow Stiles's cock down all at once.

Stiles gives a surprised shout and thrashes beneath him before Derek pins him better. His cock swells rapidly on Derek's tongue. Derek licks him, sucks at him, and every time he lowers his head to swallow Stiles deeper, the zippers and clasps of the jacket press into his cheeks and his jaw, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't forget that Stiles is lying beneath him wearing nothing but Derek's jacket.

It's so much better than if he wore nothing at all.

It doesn't take Stiles long to come, his cries going hoarse as he spills himself down Derek's throat. Derek would be embarrassed at how close behind he is, but all he can see is Stiles lying there, flushed and sated and thoroughly wrecked and still wrapped up leather that belongs to Derek, and that's all it takes.

He comes across Stiles's stomach, gets it on his coat and it'll probably be a bitch to clean later, but he can't care. He nuzzles against Stiles's throat and the jacket's collar.

"Dude," Stiles says with an unsteady laugh. "I'm going to wear this _all the time_." And there's nothing Derek can do but nod helpless agreement.

"Wait, really?" Stiles pushes up on an elbow and looks down at him. "You're giving this to me?"

"No." The growl that rumbles through Derek's throat is immediate. "It's _mine_."

If Derek gave it to him, then it would be Stiles's when he wore it. And that would defeat the point entirely.

* * *

**39**  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Stiles 

Erica can tolerate many things for Stiles’ sake, but a six-hour marathon of “How It’s Made” is not among them. 

Still, she doesn’t feel like getting up off the couch, where she’s lying spooned up against Stiles, his chin resting on the top of her head and one hand idly stroking the skin just above the waistband of her jeans. This position is good for two things, and Erica isn’t feeling sleepy. 

Reaching up, she covers Stiles’ hand with her own. He whines when she pulls it off her hip, but makes another sound entirely when she brings his hand up to her mouth and sucks on two of his fingers. They’re long and graceful and stroke lightly against her tongue as she wets them. 

It’s tricky maneuvering his wet fingers into her jeans without undoing them. The jeans are tight enough to make her tingle pleasantly if she crosses her legs, but they’ll feel even better pressing Stiles’ slick fingers against her. 

He pushes them beneath her panties and she stops him just as the tips press against her folds. She presses between his first two knuckles, getting him to split his fingers slightly so they’re resting on either side of her clit. He makes a soft, broken noise when she clasps him by the wrist and begins to rock back and forth, teasing herself. 

His fingers are a tight fit, and she only has to roll her hips slightly to get the feeling she wants, warm little jolts of pleasure that start her nerve endings sizzling. She likes the build-up, and her mouth falls open as her breath starts to come a little faster. Stiles whispers her name, kissing the top of her head and tucking up tighter against her back. When he squeezes his fingers together ever so slightly, she bucks and gasps in surprise, feeling him smile against her scalp. 

Fine. He wants be a more active participant here? Erica can work with that. She pulls his hand back slightly and squeezes his first two fingers together before guiding them back down. Grasping the back of his hand, she manipulates it so he’s rubbing tight circles around her clit. 

She controls the pressure with little more than a squirm of her hips, but it makes her whole body undulate and he moves with her. It’s starting to get really good now, and when he briefly dips his hand down to wet his fingertips, she moans, suddenly realizing how empty she feels. 

As she reaches down to finally unzip her jeans, she mutters, “Don’t you fucking dare stop,” and Stiles squeezes her clit again, gently, making her shudder. She wriggles her jeans and panties down to mid-thigh. It still doesn’t give him a lot of room to work with, but when she gasps, “Other hand,” she doesn’t even have to tell him what to do. 

He reaches down and slides two fingers into her, murmuring “Fuck” when he feels how wet she is. At this angle, he can’t push very deep – his wrist is probably already straining a bit as it is – but he doesn’t need to. She just wants the fullness right there at her opening. “Another one,” she breathes, tightening around his fingers to show it’s not quite enough. He obliges and oh, fuck, that’s good. That’s _perfect._

The pleasure coiling low in her stomach is getting more and more urgent, and she finally grabs his wrist and holds him still, grinding her clit against his fingers. He’s whispering something in her ear, low and dirty, but she doesn’t hear it at all, only the wet sound of his fingers, and with a hard shiver, she’s coming, body shuddering silently with each sweet pulse of it. 

He’s the one who makes little sighs of adoration every time she clenches around his fingers. When she goes limp, he brings her down gently, fingertips wringing a few jolting aftershocks out of her as she gasps for breath. She’s still got his wrist in an iron grip, but at least there are no claw marks. 

When she finally lets him go, she’s not surprised that he immediately fumbles for the remote. “What?” she asks, getting a final glance at the show before he switches it off. “You don’t want to find out how steel shipping drums are made?” 

“Already saw that one,” he says, and she can hear the grin before she sees it, when he flips her onto her back and kisses her down into the cushions. 

* * *

****40.**  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Somnophilia  
 **Pairing:**** Danny/Stiles 

**Title:** He Wakes When He Dreams 

Stiles hates to admit it, but he’s not exactly an experienced kind of guy. You know, expeeeeeerienced. _Seeeexually_. 

When he was 16, and only like half the people he knew were sexually active, it wasn’t such a big deal. But, Stiles is 18 now and headed off to college in a week. He does _not_ want to be the only virgin on campus (hyperbole; Stiles can’t find a fuck to give.) So, he chalks up his most recent stalking of Danny Mahealani to so much desperation and his need for sexual sanity. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding me,” Danny says and quickly adds, “You know what? Never mind. I _seriously_ want to pretend like you did not just ask me that.” 

Stiles huffs. “Come on, Danny! Just do this one little thing for me and I swear I’ll never bother you about _anything_ ever again.” 

“One little th-? Stiles, this is _not_ a little thing!” Danny tries to push around Stiles to get to his car, but Stiles’ reflexes have gotten a workout in the last couple of years. He moves quickly to stand in front of Danny’s drivers side door. Danny glares. “No. Now move.” 

“Please,” Stiles tries for sincere. He’s pretty sure he nailed it. 

Danny adjusts his backpack and growls, “You’re not even gay, Stiles. No.” 

Oh. 

“Oh,” Stiles says and then smiles a little. “Well, that’s uh. That’s up for negotiation.” Which is true. Because Stiles is definitely not straight completely. It probably would have been best to start with that. “I should have started with that.” 

Stiles can’t decipher the look on Danny’s face, but doesn’t really get a chance to because Danny is pushing Stiles out of the way. “I need to go,” he says and Stiles actually lets him by to get in his car. Stiles is still standing there when Danny drives out of the parking lot, trying to figure out what to do now. 

*****

“You probably broke him, Stiles,” Scott says and throws the lacrosse ball up towards his ceiling. “You know this isn’t a big deal right? You being a virgin? Not a big deal.”

Stiles stands up from Scott’s desk chair and grabs the lacrosse ball from the air before it lands back in Scott’s hand. He growls down at Scott, with very little heat behind it, and says, “It’s a big deal,” before walking out.

“Where are you going? Bring back my ball!”

Stiles holds back the immature chuckle he feels threatening to bubble out. “No. And home. I need some sleep.”

*****

“Oh fuck.” Stiles is absolutely dreaming. “ _Daaaanny._ ” But he _never_ wants to wake up. Danny’s mouth on his aching cock is exactly what he needs right now, feels exactly how he thought it would. All wet heat and glorious pressure, sucking him off and playing with his balls between those impossibly gorgeous fingers.

Stiles’ hips thrust up and he hears Danny choke on his cock when it bumps the back of his throat, but he doesn’t stop him. So Stiles just keeps thrusting. He watches as his hard cock slides past Danny’s stretched red lips over and over again. His head drops back to the pillow, one hand holding Danny’s head in place as he fucks his mouth, and his eyes roll back into his head.

He’s not going to last much longer and yet he never wants this to end.

That’s when Danny hums around his dick and slips one finger back to stroke over Stiles’ hole. With a shout, Stiles grips hard at Danny’s hair and shoots his load down his throat. “Jesus fuck, Danny!”

Stiles wakes up then, wishing he could have basked in the imaginary afterglow for a while, but knowing that he’s got a mess in his shorts to clean up. Again.

Except.

“What?” Stiles voice is barely his own. It’s sleep-sounding and gritty, husky. “What?”

Danny winks at him before licking a long stripe over Stiles’ slowly softening and oversensitive cock.

“What?”

Danny sucks the head of Stiles’ cock and he wants to shrink away because it’s too much, too much, but too _good_ to move. His dick slips out from his mouth with a wet pop and Stiles can’t stop the groan from spilling out of his mouth. “You wanted experience. I wanted your cock. Win meet win.”

Later, after Stiles is done happily choking on Danny’s cock, he’ll realize Danny took his somnophilia virginity like a boss. Danny is a kinky bastard. He’s sure of it.

Stiles grins.

* * *

**41.**  
 **Warnings:** mentions of noncon (brief fantasy), unsafe sex  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Ms Morrell

Peter would like to say that she’s a part of the plan, but she isn’t. She’s a distraction, but he’s allowed some of those considering he just regained his mortal body and all the _very_ interesting things it’s good for. People who have never been dead simply don’t appreciate the things their living bodies can do.

It’s such a waste.

These things don’t even have to be complicated. For example, he met her – Morrell, the name on her office door says – while he was keeping an eye on Derek’s useless pack. They'd shared a few loaded looks across the hallway. And now here she is with her skirt bunched up around her waist, back pressed to the door of her office as he slides his hand up her inner thigh.

The blinds over the window on her door bunches a little where her shoulders press into them and she looks a bit nervously at the small gap at the bottom, but makes no attempt to move. He smirks at her, brushing his fingers over the line of her panties, enjoying the way her legs tremble. When he hooks his thumbs inside them, pulling them down, her heartbeat picks up.

He may have taken the initiative, but she’s more than willing, even if the students are walking by right outside. She circles her hips when he strokes her, fingers dipping in between her lips where she’s wet and hot.

Even if she hadn’t been willing, he would have taken it anyway. It might have been more fun if she’d put up a bit of a fight. He would’ve pressed her to the door, holding her steady, telling her to take it. It’s vivid in his mind when he pushes two fingers into her with no warning and she lets out a sound of surprise, her lips falling open.

She recovers quickly, pushing back onto his fingers. And, fine, he likes this too. Because she’s fucking wet, coating his fingers until it slides down into his palm. Her head is thrown back against the door, the skin of her neck exposed and tempting, but no, now’s not the time for that.

He was planning to fuck her, making the door rattle under them, but the way she clutches around his fingers, pushing down to meet them with nearly inaudible moans is a little transfixing. He likes how she shivers when he curls them inside her.

So he just fucks her like this, watching her as she bites her lip and she turns her head to the side.

“Scott? Dude, what’s up?”

Peter grins as her eyes fly open, wide and concerned. He just slides his fingers in hard and deep to distract her before flicking his thumb across her clit, watching her arch against the door.

“Nothing, I just... nothing,” Scott says before their footsteps disappear quickly down the hall.

She comes, head thrown back as she coats his fingers. It slides down his palm and then his wrist. He doesn’t let her recover, but just flips her around, barely letting her get her palms against the door before he gets his cock out of his jeans and pushes in past her swollen lips. Her muscles are still spasming, and she’s tight and slick around his cock as he fucks her.

He trails his fingers against her cheek, smearing her juices over her skin, before he pushes them into her mouth. She sucks them clean as he buries himself in her and comes.

He’s still a little out of it when she moves away from him, pushing her skirt back into place. She seems unaffected as she smooths the fabric down, smiling at him.

“Well, that was fun,” she says, pressing herself against him.

She puts a hand at the back of his neck, pushing him down for an open-mouthed kiss. There’s a strange taste when he licks at her bottom lip, one that has nothing to do with kisses. He pulls away, his blood rushing uncomfortably.

“So, Peter,” she says, her lips glistening. “What can you tell me about the Alpha pack?”

His eyes widen, the taste of magic on his tongue making his throat constrict.

* * *

**42.**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** clothes sharing  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Stiles

Stiles is still half asleep when he walks into the kitchen, wearing nothing but last night's rumpled boxers. He's glad his dad has the night shift and won't be home before midday, because the task of dressing feels too daunting without coffee, and even the boxers are a concession to the cold December weather and not to modesty. He puts the coffee on, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The coffee's ready by the time he hears Lydia's footsteps in the corridor. He stirs one spoonful of sugar and resolutely doesn't turn around, not even when she enters the kitchen, so he's not prepared when he feels a soft weight draping over his back.

Lydia wraps her arms around Stiles and takes the cup from his hands. "Good morning," she says, close to his ear, and takes a sip.

"Hey, that's mine," Stiles says, but without real bite in his words. That's when he turns around and looks at Lydia, and it takes him a lot of willpower not to fumble everything and fall on the floor on his ass. She's gorgeous this morning, with no make-up and her hair still mussed, wearing one of Stiles's old sweaters. It makes her look softer, somehow.

It's not a regular occurrence, this. The sleeping-with-Lydia part happens often enough, yeah, and sometimes she'll even stay the night, letting Stiles hold her and slipping out of bed at the crack of dawn without saying anything. (Lydia said when it started that what she wanted was fucking. She never said she needed cuddles too. Stiles provides both, and doesn't delude himself that he's replacing Jackson, not in any way that matters.) But she's here now, in Stiles's kitchen, drinking his coffee and wearing his clothes. Stiles buries his head against her neck, smells his own cheap soap on her skin, and refuses to think about what this might mean.

The sweater feels soft under Stiles's cheek, the fabric worn down by use. Its dark burgundy sets off Lydia's pale skin. Stiles runs his fingers along Lydia's spine, tracing all the knobs. He can feel her chest rise and fall with every gulp of coffee she takes. When his hands reach down to cup her ass, there's only skin under the sweater. Lydia leans into his touch, and Stiles has to draw back and look at her, breathing hard and doing a creditable impression of a gasping fish.

Lydia just smirks and puts the empty cup down on the counter. "Didn't feel like putting on clothes," she says, conversationally. "Your dad's not here anyway, right?"

Stiles doesn't remember telling her that, doesn't really pay attention to what she's saying, because his hands are moving on their own, fumbling with the sweater's zipper and pulling it down and _oh God_. Maybe he died and went to heaven, to a very particular heaven where Lydia Martin is naked in his kitchen and grinding against him, kissing him with a mouth that tastes like coffee. Stiles doesn't know which religion might be associated with this heaven, but count him in.

Lydia manhandles him towards the nearest chair and pushes him down, moving to straddle him. Stiles lets her because, really, why wouldn't he. She makes to shrug out of the sweater but Stiles stops her with one hand over her shoulder. "Leave it," he says, wincing inwardly at how wrecked he sounds already. His thumb moves over her nipple, circling it lightly. Lydia shots him a questioning look, then bends down to kiss him, messy and open-mouthed. The sweater stays.

Stiles's dick is already straining the front of his boxers. Lydia gives it a couple of teasing strokes before lowering herself onto it, head thrown back to show the curve of her throat, fingers digging into Stiles's shoulders for balance. Stiles lets her do what she wants, like always, but he's glad when she starts moving her hips at a quick pace. He loves her teasing but this is good too, fast and messy and almost feverish.

He comes too quickly, biting his lip so he doesn't shout her name, or worse. He'd apologize for his lack of stamina, but Lydia kisses him silent, her hair falling around their heads in waves. She replaces his cock with her fingers, moaning softly against his mouth, and then she's coming with a soft cry, falling boneless in Stiles's arms. His hands curl in the fabric and pull her close.

* * *

**43.**  
 **Warnings:** underage, voyeurism, 1st person, 3rd person POV change

 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:**  
age disparity: a significant gap in age between sexual partners.  
voyeurism: the sexual interest in or practice of spying on people engaged in intimate behaviors, such as undressing, sexual activity, or other actions usually considered to be of a private nature.

 **Pairing:** Lydia/Peter

**********  
 _I don't tease myself too much, the need and want of it far too great, and I am also not patient, not for this. My parents aren't home, a long weekend out of town. After taking care to brush my long hair and put it up into a ponytail, and undress with care, seeing to my clothes, dressing just in my silk robe as I move across my room, to my bed. All movements are deliberate and I know just what I want and what I will do. It is not the first time after all._

 

He can smell her before he's all the way to her house. He is so intuned to it; it's a part of him and he would not deny that part of himself. Peter knows her parents aren't home but that hasn't stopped him before. It would just make things even more interesting. But it doesn't stop at the door or stay on the porch. He scales the side to the roof and the quietly, effortlessly moves to the ledge just outside one of the windows to her bedroom. It is one he knows well. Peter stands watching, leaning against the window jam. She is there, the lights in her room dim but he can see her just fine. Her pale skin unmarred but for the scars he left on her, her fiery hair spread out on the pillows behind her.

 

_My hands skim over my body, teasing my breasts and I can hear my own moans when my thumb rolls over and over the nipple. First one and then the other. And with each touch I can feel it moving through the rest of me, centering low in my stomach, increasing my arousal. Sometimes it is a quick need, just release is needed and then done. But other times, it is the slow build that I want, the release only part of the pleasure. This is one of those times._

 

Eyes are fixated on the rising and lowering of her chest, then down her arms to her fingers as they tease and part the apex of her legs and pressing and manipulating her clit. It is already greatly affecting her that much he can tell, and part of him wants those to be his fingers, his hands. But there would be a time and place for that.

 

_I bite my bottom lip and moan louder as my fingers rub and circle around my clit. My legs move apart a bit more and my hips push up from mmy bed a bit more. Words run through my head but none pass my lips, not yet. Just gasps and moans, whimpers and my breathing speeding up. I could feel myself getting more and more turned on and though I'd wated this to linger and go slow, I'm not sure my body had the same thought._

 

Peter can smell it, smell her arousal and how it is intensfying. He watches as her body gives in and soon she is writhing on her bed. She is driving herself crazy and closer to release, and all the wolf can think of was how much he wanted to be there beside her. He wanted to shed his clothes and press against her, skin against skin, his fingers replacing her own. He wanted to feel her losing her carefully held control.

 

_I can feel it coming on now. My fingers are moving faster and faster now; my feet are pressed down against my bed while my hips rock back and forth. I'm all warm and soft, fingers wet and continue to push me over the edge. The moans grow louder and my mouth stays open as I breath faster. And then I cry out as I crash, my fingers moving, my body tense and shaking as I come hard, with his name on my lips._

 

Peter watched feverishly as she pushed herself over the edge. He is hard in his jeans but he won't touch himself. Not yet, he will go and relive this, committing it to memory and making it last. His eyes flash red and a hand presses against the window. But it is the sound of his own name being called that surprises and pleases him the most. She wanted him and he knew he had chose well. His mate, his perfect match. And soon, on her birthday, he would claim her completely.

* * *

**44.**  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Fingerbanging and Felching (and Snowballing for good measure)  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“Bottom” wasn't the right description. Stiles Stilinski was more than happy to top if that's what his partner wanted. No, he wasn't a “bottom,” he was an ass slut. A greedy one. 

Plugs, beads, dildos, vibrators—his toy collection was extensive—he liked having something, anything, shoved up there. He liked his hole to be sloppy with lube or dripping with come so he could push a plug inside to hold it in. He liked the squelching sound of beads being pulled out one by one. He liked looking in a carefully-angled mirror to see his hole sucking in whatever it was offered. 

Derek Hale happened to have a different fetish. The thing that really got him off was bringing a certain mouthy ass slut just to the edge of orgasm and then pulling him back, taking him apart until the sarcasm and self-deprecation were nothing but pants and moans and “yes, Derek” and “more, Derek” and “if you don't let me come right now I'm going to shoot you with a wolfsbane bullet myself.”

It might have been a power trip on Derek's part, but it worked out well for both of them.

They were finally alone for the first time in weeks. Stiles entered the loft, stripped off his clothes immediately, and headed upstairs, looking over his shoulder and asking, “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Derek was going to make Stiles forget his own name.

He found Stiles already on his stomach, ready, waiting. Who was Derek not to comply?

Derek sucked his index finger into his mouth before pushing it in slowly. Stiles' hole was freshly clean, bleached and waxed so he looked like a fucking porn star. Derek couldn't care less about the manscaping, however Stiles wanted his asshole to look was fine with him, what mattered was how it felt inside, soft and warm and tight. 

He dribbled some lube down Stiles' crack, pushing it into his hole, coating the inside, careful not to press down on that bundle of nerves—right where Stiles wanted—until he added a second finger. Then he switched up his rhythm, twisting his fingers, mapping every inch he could reach, feeling Stiles clench around his digits every time he pushed in, trying to grab onto them and make them stay. 

Stiles sighed and moaned, but he wasn't pleading or begging. Yet. 

So Derek pulled out his fingers, watching Stiles' hole twitch greedily, already needing something to replace the loss.

Happy to comply, Derek slicked himself up and pushed his cock in slowly, achingly slowly, drawing out a long desperate groan from Stiles. 

“Love your fucking cock,” Stiles murmured as he pushed back his ass in offering. “So big.” 

Derek didn't quicken his pace, his thrusts slow and steady and hard. He bottomed out, hips flush with Stiles' ass, then pulled nearly all the way out before pushing right back in. Stamina a non-issue, he waited for Stiles to break, and he always did. 

“Derek,” Stiles finally sobbed. “Please, please.”

Only then did Derek grip onto Stiles' hips, letting his orgasm build with quick, brutal thrusts, until he was shooting his load, staying inside Stiles until his dick softened.

“God, Derek, I need.” Stiles squirmed.

But Derek already knew, so he spread Stiles' perfect, round ass cheeks with his hands and licked up the inside of Stiles' thigh where his come had started to roll down, all the way up to Stiles' asshole. He silently thanked the sex gods for the invention of flavored lube. 

He put his lips around Stiles' hole and sucked.

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles punctuated each word. 

Derek licked and laved, getting inside, collecting every last drop that he could on his tongue. 

Stiles was writhing under his hands. 

“Derek, you gotta let me, let me.” 

Wordlessly, he rolled Stiles over onto his back and pressed down on top of him, chest to chest, kissing him messily, pushing his come into Stiles' mouth with his tongue, making him taste what had just been inside him. 

As Stiles swallowed, Derek reached down and pushed two fingers into Stiles' ass one last time as he wrapped his other hand around Stiles' desperate cock. That was all it took.

Stiles arched his back and opened his mouth with a gasp, shooting come all over Derek's hand, his own stomach and chest.

Sweaty and sated and spent.

* * *

**45.**  
 **Warnings:** Underage Sex  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Fisting  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Lydia

Lydia and Allison fuck like this. 

It starts against the pillows, Allison’s hands cradling Lydia’s face, and Lydia’s clever fingers finding new ways to make Allison moan into her mouth. Then it moves sideways on the bed, and breaks for snuggling, before wandering back for some sexy dancing and sexier kissing against wall. 

Nights spent over at Lydia’s house are only worth it if they reach three orgasms or more. 

Allison is working on that third one for Lyds, tongue playing at the already sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, kissing her way up to Lydia’s pussy, already wet and waiting for her. Playing with light swipes across her clitoris, Allison has all kinds of plans.

Allison adds a finger or two, loving the way that Lydia takes them so easily, the way they disappear into her body. Lydia’s head is thrown back and her neck is one long, beautiful line, that Allison surges forward to mark. 

“C’mon Allison, give me more,” Lydia pants, fisting the sheets, hips rising to every thrust of Allison’s fingers. Allison is keeping to her own rhythm, she won’t be pressured to go faster by Lydia, but she adds another finger. Three of Allison’s fingers flexing and contracting in the wet pressure of Lydia’s body. 

Lydia’s hand tangles in Allison’s hair and she drags Allison forward. Allison gasps as Lydia bites her lower lip, tongue playing into Allison’s mouth like Lydia can’t get enough of her taste. 

“More, c’mon, more,” Lydia breathes right into Allison’s mouth. 

“You sure?” Allison whispers, right into her ear, where Lydia’s hair curls just so. 

Lydia nods hurriedly, hips jerking up to meet Allison’s palm. Four fingers, and Allison’s twists ever so gently. Lydia is still moaning and jerking in obvious pleasure. It’s tempting, so tempting to add her thumb. They’d never talked about this. But, it’s right there. 

So, Allison pumps her fingers once gently and then asks,”Can I? My whole hand?”

Lydia’s eyes are glazed, but for this her gaze sharpens. She nods haphazardly and waves at her nightstand. “Lube’s in the drawer.” 

“Gloves?” Allison asks. Lydia doesn’t reply and it doesn’t matter; she’s already rummaging in the drawer, and there they are: latex gloves and water-based lube. 

The glove feels weird on her hand; it’s a little bit awkward, the technical elements of fucking. The idea, though, is addictive. Allison’s thighs are already slicked up just from the thought. Lydia’s still fucked out on the bed. 

Allison makes her way to Lydia, hands sliding up Lydia’s legs, goosebumps rising in their wake. For a moment, Allison just breathes hot air against Lydia’s dripping pussy.. Lydia moans in response and rocks her head back and forth like she can convince Allison to move faster by the tilt of her hips and the grip of her hands on the sheets. 

Allison gets back to what she was doing, one finger, then two, sucking just a bit on Lydia’s clit to keep her interested. Half the fun is in the way Allison can read Lydia’s body like it’s her own, the rest is playing her like a sweet violin. 

A third and a fourth, and it’s all a seamless glide back and forth. Frictionless and unreal. Lydia gives a happy sigh like a good fucking was just what she wanted.

“Yeah, yeah, Allison.” 

Allison loves this. Breaking Lydia’s perfect grammar as she breaks her down. 

A thumb, swiveling at first, the ring of her fingers pressing against the swell of Lydia’s body and the rise of her pubic bone. Allison kisses Lydia’s hipbone, loving the way Lydia can’t help but move into the pressure. Allison bites gently at the raised bone there and pushes her way in. 

Lydia gasps, chest rising like she’s tied to the ceiling by a wire to her sternum. Allison tweaks one of her nipples, presented just so, and flexes her fingers at the same time.

Her mouth is making a perfect circle, lips bloodred and smudged as Lydia sinks nails into Allison’s shoulder and comes like a freight train. It’s just waves of pure pleasure running up her spine.

For a moment, she can’t think. 

The world stops spinning and she just breathes as everything holds its breath. 

And then she’s clutching Allison to her, panting Allison’s name into her neck, arms still shaking in the aftermath. 

When she composes herself, an eternity later, she snuggles up to Allison’s chest and says, “We’ve got to do that again.”

* * *

**46.**  
 **Warnings:** None.  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Clothes sharing, fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** girl!Derek/Stiles

The sun set slow and inexorable around the party, but its heat lingered in the wet air. It collected in little beads of perspiration between her breasts and at her nape, and built up stickily around the silk knot between her legs. She was going to stain this gown with sweat and get punished for it.

“Why Miss Hale!” Lydia Martin appeared at her elbow in a whirl. “You look positively stunning in that green. Did your Pa bring it back from Savannah?”

Miss Hale bared her teeth. “He did.”

Lydia hummed. “And what’s this I hear about your Pa throwing out Stiles Stilinski? Did he insult you, dear?”

“That is not—”

But the band chose that moment to launch into a reel, and she and Lydia had to make way for the dancing. Miss Hale slipped out to the periphery of the party and leaned into the shadow of an oak.

*

She never even liked Mr. Stilinski. Or she thought she hadn’t. He was amusing, was all. There was just one little misunderstanding involving an overturned teapot and Mr. Stilinski removing his necktie to demonstrate proper hogtying and also Laura disappearing from her chaperon duties, and everything had gone to hell. Mr. Stilinski and Pa had had a talk behind closed doors, and she was informed Mr. Stilinski would not be courting her anymore.

“For God’s sake, Pa, he wasn’t courting me.”

“Yes, he was.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes. He. Was.”

“But I—.” She swayed. “Oh.”

When she had arrived, stunned and silent, back in her own room, Laura was waiting. “I’m sorry,” Laura whispered. “I thought you needed a push.” 

*

Across the dance floor, Mr. Stilinski slung an arm around a friend, his blue coat fitted at the shoulders, and Miss Hale shifted on her feet, that sweat-drip sensation returning between her legs. When he turned and met her eyes, the corners of his mouth lifted ruefully.

She didn’t quite make a decision then so much as she shuffled backward, watching him frown as she faded out of the lamplight. She waited to make sure he would follow before turning blindly into the woods.

The noise of the party receded behind her; a whippoorwill called out somewhere near. She had no plan. 

“Miss Hale,” she heard him hiss.

“Here.” She put her back against a pine tree, uncaring of the sap.

His silhouette appeared a few steps away. “There are coyotes out here, are you crazy?”

“No,” she said, and then added, “I have your necktie.”

He huffed a thin laugh. “Keep it. It can be a memento of…a friend you once had.” He looked over his shoulder. “We ought to leave.”

She breathed fast. “I have it tied around my thigh.”

She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but she heard the rustle when he moved. She startled when his hands landed on her face and his thumbs swept up her cheekbones. “Around your—.” He exhaled in a hot rush over her face. “Lord Almighty. You ruin me, do you know that?” His fingers flexed like he couldn’t control them. “You ruin me.”

Well there’s an idea.

“If we get caught out here together—” she began.

“Your father will put a rifle to my back, and we’ll be married within the hour.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You—. What?”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to a declaration. “Pa said you couldn’t court me anymore. This is the only way—”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t know,” she protested, but the words got swallowed up by his mouth.

“Let me touch it,” he broke away to whisper. “The necktie. I won’t…I just want—”

Together, they swept up her skirt and petticoats, and he reached into her pantalets, skirted the apex of her thighs and stretched his fingers until he found it, a silk band digging into her skin.

He moaned as if he were in pain. “It’s wet.”

She felt herself blush. “It’s hot outside,” she said defensively.

“Oh darling,” he breathed, and his fingers slipped up and down the insides of her thighs. “That’s not sweat.”

And it wasn’t. With his tongue in her mouth and his fingers inside her, he could pump it out like she was a well, leaking hot and slick all down her legs and his forearm. Eventually Stiles knelt down and drank it from her, licking at his fingers and murmuring proposals.

His hand was still sticky when he put the ring on her finger.

* * *

**47.**  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** clothes sharing, age disparity  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Jackson

He does it because she tells him to. 

And because the look in her eyes when she pulled the underwear out of her drawer and handed it to him made him feel like he was burning up from the inside. It was the same scrap of lace she was wearing the first time they fucked, unbearably sexy as she wiggled out of her office clothes, dark green and rich against her skin. 

It doesn’t really smell like her, just her perfume and detergent. But the lace scratches over his skin like manicured fingernails and he’s half-hard as he tucks his dick in. Once he puts his jeans on it’s impossible to tell he’s not wearing his usual boxer-briefs. But Jackson knows and the thought makes him shiver.

He can’t stop thinking about it. The whole day at school, in class, at lunch, the pull of the lace against his skin is so distracting he barely manages to glare at Stiles when the idiot drops his entire lunch tray on Jackson’s shoes.

For the first time in his life he’s grateful that lacrosse season is over because it means that the second the last bell rings, he’s all but running to her house. He’s kind of sweaty when he gets there but not embarrassed enough to care. 

She’s wearing some kind of see-through negligee when she opens the door, hip cocked and smirking.

“Hello Jackson, do come in.” She leans back, but still somehow brushes against him as he steps forward.

“Hi Lydia.” It’s still weird to call her Lydia, sometimes in his head he still thinks of her as Michael’s mom, even though Michael was an asshole and lives with his dad now anyway.

She raises an eyebrow like she knows what he’s thinking.

“Are you thirsty? Do you want a snack?” He knows she’s making fun of him but she says it like it’s something dirty and it’s a second before he can find his voice.

“No.” He doesn’t know how to make this go the way he wants, doesn’t know how to say that he did what she asked, that he’s been wearing her underwear all day and he’s so hard it hurts.

But it’s Lydia, so of course she knows.

She pulls him upstairs to her room and says strip and his hands are shaking as he pulls off his shirt. He hesitates for a moment on the button of his jeans but she’s waiting so he pushes them off and steps out. His dick is dripping and almost purple where it strains against the lace.

“You’ve been so good for me Jackson.” Lydia steps forward, pressing her body against his. “You did just what I asked, didn’t you? Even though it was hard. Even though you wanted to touch yourself all day.” Her fingers are teasing him through the lace and he can’t help it. He cries out like it hurts and she kisses him, hushes him.

“It’s okay, Jackson. I’ll take care of you.” She pushes him backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of him. Her mouth is on him before he even has time to take a breath and any air left in his lungs disappears. She’s wet and tight and so hot. He can hear himself whining pathetically but can’t make himself stop. 

Whenever he imagines her blowing him he always forgets how good it is, how she pins him down and _owns_ him. 

She looks up at him once, red lips stretching wetly around his dick, and he comes helplessly, like she can just pull his orgasm out of him with a look. She licks him until the aftershocks stop and it starts to hurt. 

She carefully pulls the ruined underwear back up over his dick.

“So good for me. So pretty.” She crawls forwards to whisper in his ear until he gets hard again, until she can tease him and use him and break him all over again.

Because nobody touches him like Lydia does. Nobody else owns him.

* * *

**48.**  
 **Warnings:** Threesome M/F/F, Bondage, Prostitution, Slight Verbal Humiliation  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Sounding, Pegging, Voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/OFC/OFC

Stiles would sacrifice himself to save those he loved. It was the first thing he learned about Stiles. The second; when others were over their head and would asked for help, Stiles was willing to go to hell and back just to make sure no one else carried the burden.

Case in point, the reason they were both in this dark motel room that should have been condemned years ago. He rested, back against the questionable wall, watching Stiles being prepped, on the bed, by two women. Stiles may try to take on the world by himself, but at least Stiles had the forethought to ask for help this time, even if his only requirement was someone to watch and make sure the deals went on as agreed. 

Giving a false air of calm, Stiles lay across the bed, hands cuffed in leather restraints, as one of the women, Amber, adjusted the buckles of the strap on dildo to the other.

“Ready for us honey?” Amber cooed in a slickly sweet voice. “Like we agreed, no filming your face. Okay Beth, get him hard for me, while I stretch him for you.”

He watched Beth eagerly work on Stiles, while Amber fucked Stiles with lubed fingers. He was glad the Beth was one of those women that didn't talk while working her mouth around a dick, because Amber had a sailor's mouth and liked to verbally demean men. 

“You like that you little slut, stretched tight on my fingers. Babe, I think he’s ready to be fucked, I want him to be tight around your nice toy cock.”

Amber, clearly a pro at this, used the free time to adjust cameras while Beth moved to her new position. It was obvious that Stiles was not the first person to join in their perverse games. 

“Okay Baby, push in good and deep,” Amber urged, “He should be nice and tight just like a cock whore likes it. 

Beth worked deep into Stiles with a few quick jabs of her toy.

“That's it baby, fuck him like the bitch he is. Make him stretch, make him burn,” Amber coaxed Beth to a faster speed, all while watching for a signal from Stiles features. It only took a few deep thrust before Stiles arched his back, hissing in a deep breath.

“Okay Beth, hold it right there,” Amber picked up a thin metal rod and adding lube to it. 

“Be a good boy and take a deep breath for me. That’s it. Now I’m just going to slide this into your cock,” Amber let the rod fall into the urethra as far as it will go naturally, “Feel that, such a nice pressure. Let see if we can get a little more in.” 

Gradually working the rod farther in, it was slow work getting it to Amber’s desired depth. 

“Oh what a good slut, taking the sound in so deep on your first time. Now for the fun part.”

Amber gave Stile’s cock a slow stroke up watching his reactions, “Good, Beth, I think he needs a good fucking now.”

Pushing forward with all her weight, Beth worked hard thrusting into Stiles. Amber, however, kept her pace at slow strokes.

“Doesn’t take feel so good, feeling the sound rolling with my hand, rubbing on sensitive nerves, making your cock so painfully hard?”

Stiles let out a low whine, bucking back down on the dildo in his ass, giving Amber the sign she was looking for to increase her speed. 

“Fuck yourself good, you little slut, you enjoy it don’t you, the pain yet hitting all the right spots at once. You are close aren’t you? You want to come don’t you?

“Yes.”

“Now, now. Is that how good boys asks for something?”

“Please, can I come.”

“Of course baby boy,” sliding the sound out was the end for Stiles. Back arching pulling on the restraints, Stiles cock erupted, come shooting in the air, landing on his abs and chest. Amber was quick to catch the whole thing on film. 

“Oh Beth isn’t he a thing of beauty? You can have your friend untie you, keep the cuffs. Money well spent. Come babe, you’re got pussy to suck while I edit this.”

“Stiles-“

“No, Isaac we’ve been through this. I make more money in an hour then working a week elsewhere. Plus, it’s for Dad, just until he gets back on his feet, one more month at the most.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

* * *

**49.**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Gender Roleplay  
 **Pairing:** Stiles solo (imagined Sterek)

He’s home early from practice and father’s at the station until late, so he decides to use the time to indulge. He grabs his Quotationary and pulls out the silk négligée he keeps inside of its hollowed out pages. The chemise is fragile and soft, and he feels delicate when he pulls it on. 

The fabric is Tiffany blue and came with a matching pair of lacy panties. When he pulls them up and settles into them, stirrings of arousal tingle deep in his groin. He steps back and admires his appearance in the mirror. 

He feels pretty. Desirable. 

He reaches into the back of his nightstand drawer and pulls out a battered pencil case he’s had since the 4th grade. It houses a small collection of cosmetics, acquired a few weeks after his first trip to Jungle. Miss Jenn Herd drove him to a Nordstrom 70 miles away and said, “ _Suga’ plum, if you’re gunna do it, do it right._ ” She helped him select the chemise and even paid for half of his designer make-up (all of which she chose).

He doesn’t know what ‘doing it right’ entails, but he appreciates the sentiment behind it. 

As he carefully applies a coat of mascara and lip gloss, anticipation and excitement coil low in his belly. He’s doesn’t feel ready to attempt eyeliner or foundation yet, but he’ll work his way there eventually. 

Maybe. 

Either way, he likes what the mascara does to his lashes - the way it makes them black and long, makes his eyes large and bright. He looks beautiful like this. Sexy.

His erection throbs, heavy and hot, but he doesn’t touch it. He instead moves his hands down his stomach, savoring the petal-soft silk and wonders how differently he would feel if he had curves instead of straight lines, if he were soft and supple instead of lithe and hard. If breasts filled out the cups of his chemise instead of air. 

He wonders how it would be to slide his hand into his panties and feel slick folds instead of a rigid cock. He imagines his fingers sliding through soft wetness, his body ready and open in an invitation, being filled instead of emptied out.

He moves to his bed, lays back, and spreads his legs open. He slips his hand under his lacy panties, mindful of the fragile lace, and tentatively pushes them down behind his balls. He grabs his lube from the nightstand and squeezes a healthy amount on his palm. When he works the cold wetness up and down his erection, he closes his eyes and imagines it’s his own wetness. He has a clit instead of a cock, and if he slides his fingers down a bit more, he’ll find himself wet and open. 

He imagines Danny finding him like this, soft and beautiful instead of spastic, manic motion. He imagines Derek.

 _Derek_. 

He groans picturing Derek’s hands, hot and possessive, holding his legs open to make room for himself. Derek would push in, unyielding, and claim his body; he would write his name in bruises and bites. Derek would rub him, lighting him up from the inside-out as he fucked him raw. 

Derek would lay waste to him.

The sound of skin slapping skin is wet, obscene, and echoing with his pleasure. He squeezes his shaft and rubs the glans, and shudders deeply when he pinches his nipple through lace and silk with his other hand. He thumbs down the dorsal artery as cracks fissure throughout his body and tight pleasure floods him. His fist squeezes and pumps down his shaft; with every grip and twist of his wrist, his body tightens and threatens to break apart, threatens to fracture into something new. He’s shaking, wet, and such a good girl.

_Derek’s girl._

Derek would love him like this, would think he was perfect, pretty, _pristine_. Derek would smudge his lipstick and leave his own marks in its place. Derek would leave him heavy, full, and...

His balls tighten and for one crystalline moment, he’s the most beautiful girl in the world. His toes curl and his fingers claw before he’s sloppy and spent, body crashing back to the mattress from where he’d arched up. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and his panties are filthy with his release. He wonders, briefly, if there’s something wrong with him. He dismisses the thought quickly with a sigh and moves to clean himself up before his dad gets home.

* * *

**50.**  
 **Warnings:** threesome, polyamoury  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** fingerbanging, pegging  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Isaac/Allison

As Allison secures the dildo into the harness, her heart thumps wildly. She takes a deep breath, stepping out of the bathroom into Scott's room.

"That's an awesome cock," Scott says happily. He's fitted against Isaac's back, hands lazily trailing over Isaac's chest. Together in the middle of the bed they keenly watch her, a perfect picture of hotness.

She still can't figure out how she got this lucky.

Her fingers linger over the black leather straps sitting on her hips, dragging over the skin-toned dildo. Her eyes meet Isaac's. "It really is, isn't it?" He picked it out especially for her.

Isaac's head tilts back, Scott kissing his neck. "So," Isaac drawls, "you gonna come fuck me or what?"

She nods, not trusting herself with the right words for what this.

Allison knows how important this is. She's spent a long time trying to gain back everyone's trust. Scott's was harder than she'd originally thought; by the time she was ready, Isaac was in the picture, making Scott move cautiously and giving Allison double the work.

Every hard earned moment was worth it; they fit together better than any of them could've imagined. Not just sex, but in every way that matters. They make each other stronger, but there'd still seemed to be something missing, some boundary not crossed. Trust still to be given.

One night not long ago, Isaac moaned into her ear, "I want you to do this." He was deep in her cunt while Scott fucked him from behind. "Like Scott does. I want all of you. Both of you." She'd groaned and clenched around his cock while Scott declared, "Fucking awesome," and slammed in harder, setting off a chain reaction of orgasms.

Which led them to now.

Scott's lightly manhandling Isaac down to the bed so that Isaac's on his stomach. After they're comfortable, Scott slides two generously-lubed fingers into Isaac's hole, prepping him for the large dildo yet to come.

Allison crawls up onto the bed, pausing to kiss Isaac, then straddles his back to watch Scott, her cock bouncing against one pale, firm ass cheek. Scott stretches Isaac open, eventually dripping more lube over his hole and her fingers. She slides two alongside Scott's. Isaac moans, squirming between her thighs. They move all four in and out, slow at first, then more steady until Isaac's rocking against the mattress, cursing under his breath. 

"Jesus, fucking do it already," he gasps after Scott's shown her how to press against the prostate, sending shudders through his entire body.

"Fine, fine," Scott says, good-naturedly. He kisses Allison, deep and thorough, before moving so she can take position behind Isaac.

Isaac pushes up on all fours, spreading his knees, ass presented to her. "It'll be easier this way."

She agrees, though she wishes she could see his face as she slowly slides her big cock in. It doesn't affect her the same way it would Scott, of course, but she's wet and turned on as she starts to pump in and out. "Is this -- I mean--"

"Good," Isaac gasps as she pushes in harder, trying to find the right pace and pressure. "So fucking good."

"It is," Scott says, sounding winded from watching. "I -- oh, god, I have to--" He moves in front of Isaac, not even having to explain while Isaac opens his mouth, greedily sucking Scott's cock in.

Scott fucks Isaac's mouth while Allison fucks his ass, and it's the most beautiful, hottest thing she's ever seen. Scott clearly thinks the same, holding Isaac's head and thrusting his hips, saying, "You must be so full, so full of us." Isaac's moaning and whining, making noises Allison's never heard from him before, a sheen of sweat across his back. When she reaches around, his dick is hard, and it's only a few strokes before he pulls away from Scott so he can gasp as he comes all over her hand with her cock shoved in as deep as she can get it.

Scott strokes his own dick a couple times before Isaac starts sucking on the cockhead again, making Scott come with a shout.

She can't take it, so turned on by them, her shaky hands trying to unclip the harness after she pulls out of Isaac. Next she knows she's flipped to her back and there are hands and mouths everywhere.

"We'll take care of you," Isaac says, sounding dazed. Scott hums contently in agreement.

She trusts they both will.

* * *

**51.**  
 **Warnings:** Underage, pack polyamory  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Erica (background Boyd/Derek/Erica/Isaac)

**Homecoming**

The leather sits low on Erica's hips, soft and familiar against her skin, cinched a hair too tight just the way she likes it. She runs her hands over her breasts, pinching each nipple to a stiff peak, and savors the moment, her breath quickening in anticipation.

It's been five long months since she left them, five months of playing both sides to defeat the alpha pack, but she's home with her pack now, where she belongs.

The room is hot, air heavy and drenched in the scent of pack and sex. Isaac and Boyd lay side by side, kissing lazily while Boyd strokes Isaac slowly. Erica smiles, knowing she'll be with them soon enough.

"Are you ready?" she asks, stepping up to the bed.

Derek makes a muffled sound in response, face buried in his folded arms. 

She wraps a hand around his hip, pressing the tip of her strap-on against his asshole. He's loose, still wet from Boyd filling him less than an hour before, knees spread wide in invitation. Erica knows she could slide in with one push but she waits. Instead, she presses two fingers inside as deep as they'll go, feeling Derek's heat as he clenches and releases around them.

The sounds he makes are deep, guttural. He's so needy, eager, desperate for it. Wanting this; wanting her. 

She won't make him wait much longer.

Erica pulls her fingers free and strokes her cock, slicking it with the remnants of lube and Boyd's come. The dildo is thick, solid black and bigger than they've used before, a pleasant, heavy weight in her hand. She leans forward, rubbing the length of it against Derek's ass, breasts pressed into his back. Her hair falls in waves around her face as she traces the line of sweat between his shoulder blades with her tongue, nipping at his skin with blunt teeth and watching the indentations fade almost immediately.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

She doesn't wait for an answer, pulling back and dragging her fingers down the bunched muscles of his back. He's too tense. She doesn't want to hurt him; they've all suffered enough.

"You need to relax," she says. After waiting so long, she's impatient too, but she tries to calm him by rubbing circles into his hip with her thumb. Derek takes a deep breath, then another. His shoulders drop as the tension fades away. 

"That's it," she says, lining up her cock and pushing just the head in.

The long moan Derek lets out makes Erica ache with desire to feel the hot stretch of his body around her. She traces the rim of his asshole with her fingertip as she pushes forward, sliding deeper, watching her cock disappear inside him. He's greedy for it, pushing back against her, trying to pull her in.

She holds him still, her too-sharp nails digging lightly into his hip, and pushes forward until her thighs meet the back of his. After a few slow thrusts, she quickly picks up speed, loving the sound of skin slapping against skin. Derek works himself on her cock, settling into a rhythm that matches her own, a low growl building in his chest. Erica spreads him wide and pulls out all the way, watching his hole clench around nothing, then drives back in and fills him up. She does it again and again, wild with the power she has over his body.

Erica throws her head back, grinding her hips into him, the base of her cock rubbing against her clit. The grip she has on his hips is punishing. She reaches out to grab his hair, pulling his neck back and exposing the line of his throat.

"Come on, Derek," she pants. He gets a hand on his cock and he jerks himself off in time with her movements, legs trembling. She doesn't stop, thrusting into him hard and deep, until she feels him shudder, shooting his come across the filthy sheets.

As soon as Erica pulls out, they're on her. Derek flips her over with inhuman speed, fumbling with the buckles of her harness and tossing it to the floor, then burying his face between her legs. Isaac and Boyd reach out for her too, hands and mouths seemingly everywhere.

She gives herself over to it, back arching off the bed, letting them take her apart, knowing they'll be there to put her back together again.

* * *

**52.**  
 **Warnings:** Possible Dub-Con  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Somnophilia, Docking  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

Stiles is asleep by the time Scott climbs through his window. Scott flops down on the bed next to him, flipping on the tube. Some soft-core thing is playing.

Scott glances over but Stiles is out cold and Scott decides not to switch it, even when the girl’s lost her bra and the guy has his hand down her panties. He’s getting hard and he rubs himself through his jeans, one eye on Stiles.

His mouth is hanging open, lower lip glistening. His eyelashes are a dark smudge on his cheek and his breaths are snuffling, soft. He looks effortlessly pornographic. Scott hasn’t looked back up at the couple on screen in too long.

He bites his lip and turns into Stiles's body, jerking himself slow as he reaches out and cups Stiles through his pajamas. He’s half-hard. He pushes into the warmth of Scott's palm with desperate little twitches of his hips. Scott lowers the waistband of Stiles’s pants.

This isn’t totally new to them. Before their sophomore year of high school, they’d gotten off together all the time. Scott’s man enough to admit he sometimes misses it.

Stiles has gotten bigger since they last did this and Scott wonders if they could still—Scott pulls back his foreskin and presses the head of his cock to Stiles's, stifling a moan as his hips jump forward involuntarily. He grips Stiles tight, sees his mobile mouth break open around a gasp.

He rolls his foreskin over Stiles's cock, fitting it under his skin, feeling it twist around the head of his dick with a broken little moan. It's always felt _more_ to him than Stiles. To Stiles it’d always been more about the visual, seeing himself under Scott's skin.

It’s intimate and erotic and _theirs_. Scott has never had anything like this with Allison. He doesn't want this with Isaac. It’s only Stiles he's ever felt this close to.

He’s beautiful like this, sleep-warm and pliant, and the _feel_ of him. It’s too much and Scott wants to make Stiles _come_. He’s so close. Beyond close. And Scott wants to feel it.

Stiles's whole body goes stiff. Something _hot_ explodes under Scott’s skin, wraps around his cock and prickles down his shaft. Scott’s never been so turned on in his life. Stiles’s mouth is slack and wet around broken words. He repeats them while Scott strokes his hair and worries the skin of his jaw between his teeth. "In,” he says. “Want it in—inside."

Scott's dick _throbs_ against the soft warmth of Stiles's stomach and he wants that. He wants Stiles. It slams Scott hard in the chest, robbing him of breath. He caresses Stiles's lower lip with his thumb and wonders how long he’s been in love with his best friend.

He rolls Stiles over and presses two fingers inside him. Stiles whines and eases back into Scott's body. "I can feel you under my skin," Scott whispers. It’s still cooling under his foreskin. A strange part of Scott - the wolf part, wants to hold onto Stiles’s scent that way. He’s going to fuck Stiles with his own come and he’s afraid he’s going to lose it at the _idea of that_ before he gets Stiles loose enough for him.

He works a third finger into him and Stiles gives off a wounded sort of noise. Scott gentles and slows as he stretches him, making soothing noises into Stiles’s neck. He’s barely pulled out before he’s sliding back in with his cock. Running his hand over Stiles's chest and stomach, impaling him on his dick, holding still as he lets Stiles adjust to him.

Stiles is letting out whuffing little breaths, his sleep-heavy body moving with the rhythm of Scott's. Scott thrusts into him, exploring every plane of Stiles's body with his hands. He wants this, not just in this stolen moment, but always.

It doesn't take much before he’s coming inside Stiles, burying himself deep inside his body, marking him as Scott's. And he is. He has to be. Because Scott isn't sure he can live without this now.

He holds Stiles tight around his chest, pulling him back into the protective curve of Scott's body. He drifts on the edge of sleep while Stiles groans and Scott slips out of him with a whine. Stiles snorts and snuffles, rolls over, shoving his head up under Scott's chin. His breath is warm and damp. His lips brush Scott's collarbone. And he says softly, adoringly: 

"Derek."

* * *

**53.**  
 **Warnings: Dubcon due to sex pollen?**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used: Clothes Sharing**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Isaac**

If there was anything worse than being stuck on an alien planet, hopped up on fucking _alien spores_ and needing release so badly that his entire body hurt, it was this; the sight of Ensign Lahey writhing on a bed in nothing but Derek’s uniform shirt. How was the kid even wearing a shirt? Derek’s skin was so fucking sensitive right now that it physically hurt to have anything on. 

Derek could withstand a lot. He withstood Laura’s smirking, knowing face when she assigned them both to this mission, he withstood the unwarranted jealousy when one of their hosts flirted with Lahey, he could even withstand the fucking _torture_ that was his current state. He could ride this out until it subsided, until whatever they’d given him finally made its way out of his system.

He didn’t think he could withstand this, though. It was obscene, the sight of him wearing Derek’s science blues, the hem stopping right above his erect cock. He was fisting himself roughly, whimpering, and Derek had to stop himself from doing the same; from trying to ease the ache by jerking off to the living fantasy in front of him.

God but Ensign Lahey was beautiful.

He approached the bed even though he’d told himself that he wouldn’t. His shirt completely dwarfed Lahey’s more lithe body and it gave him the appearance of something small, fragile; something that needed taking care of. Derek wanted so badly to take care of him.

As if feeling his presence, Lahey opened his eyes and blinked up at him through hazy eyes, smiling softly.

Derek’s hands clenched at his sides. “How are you wearing that?”

“It’s yours.” Like that was explanation enough, the ridiculous kid. Lahey whined and wriggled, his free hand coming up to catch Derek’s wrist and tug him closer. “Come here.”

He wanted to. “We can’t,” he said instead. “This isn’t real; we don’t want this.”

Lahey made a frustrated noise. “I do. I want you. Please.”

Derek swallowed. He was only so strong and everything about Ensign Lahey seemed tailor-made to weaken him.

“ _Please_.”

Derek’s undoing. 

He crawled onto the bed, between Lahey’s legs, pushing him down to slot their hips together. The contact made him dizzy, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of their skin sliding together, Lahey’s moans in his ear, the way he looked wearing Derek’s fucking shirt.

“Fuck me,” He begged and suddenly Derek couldn’t live a moment longer without doing just that.

A vial of _something_ was pressed into his hands; the same vial that Derek had witnessed one of their hosts giving to Lahey hours earlier. It went against every instinct he had to use something he was unfamiliar with but Derek was half out of his mind and for once he _didn’t care_. He used it to slick himself up and threw it aside, not caring where it landed.

His cock rubbed against Lahey’s hole. “Ensign.”

Lahey shook his head. “Isaac, call me Isaac.”

“ _Isaac_.” Derek shuddered. “Are you sure?”

Isaac huffed and then Derek found himself on his back, Isaac above him. His hands tightened on Isaac’s hips, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt as Isaac sank down on his cock.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Isaac said again.

Derek did. 

It was hard and fast and possibly the best thing Derek had ever experienced; Isaac's warmth around him, his moans filling up the room. He wanted it to last forever, never wanted to know what it was like to live without this fire in his veins, the intense pleasure building at the base of his spine.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Isaac, couldn’t stop smoothing a hand down his chest to feel his body move under the shirt. Derek had wanted this since the first time he set eyes on Isaac, had jerked off to so many fantasies over the years, but nothing compared to this; to Isaac wearing his shirt like Derek _owned_ him.

He came with that thought swimming in his head, groaning as Isaac tightened around him and found his own release. They collapsed on the bed together, exhausted. Derek pushed a hand under the shirt to caress the small of Isaac’s back, gratified when he gave a contented hum, nuzzling at Derek’s throat.

“We’re doing that again,” Isaac mumbled after a few minutes.

Derek just nodded. He wasn’t sure how long this would last but he’d take whatever Isaac let him have; and maybe ruin his shirt more thoroughly in the process.

* * *

**54.**  
 **Warnings:** Underage masturbation  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 

It had started as a game. Stiles had spent a long time trying to sneak into the bedrooms of assorted werewolves and steal something without them noticing. The difficulty at first had been that there was no reason for his scent to be in anyone's bedroom, so Stiles had spent quite some time working on a spell to camouflage his scent. He'd also spent quite some time finding reasons to get into people's bedrooms and handle their things, though that hadn't gone down too well.

Now, though, he thought he'd move it onto a different level.

It had taken some doing to get into Derek's bedroom at all – Derek hadn't bought any of the excuses he'd come up with to get into the room, and Stiles wasn't at all sure that the spell worked well enough to fool an Alpha, especially not one as suspicious as Derek. Yet he'd managed to get in there, and instead of taking something he'd left something behind. A small, motion-activated camera.

The angle wasn't the best, but Stiles had been treated to the view of Derek stalking into his room, grabbing a some clean clothes from the dresser (coming scarily close to the camera as he did so) and dumping them on a chair before heading for the shower. Stiles hit record and sat, waiting.

When Derek walked back into the room, he had a towel in his hands and was rubbing at his hair. He wasn't quite dry; even with the poor resolution Stiles was getting he could see a drop of water tracing down between Derek's shoulder blades, heading down to the crack of Derek's ass, and holy hell, Derek was completely and totally naked.

Stiles popped the button on his jeans and fumbled to get a hand on his suddenly very hard cock. He didn't bother to free himself from his boxers, just squeezed himself through the fabric as he prayed for Derek to turn around.

His prayers were answered as Derek walked over to the bed and lay down, spreading himself out like a centrefold and giving Stiles an amazing view. Derek wasn't hard, not yet, but he brought one knee up, letting Stiles see absolutely everything. Stiles moaned and pulled his cock out, wishing that he'd thought to get his lube while Derek had been in the shower. On screen, Derek was tracing one hand over his chest, fingers teasing and pulling at his nipples. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, and his cock was getting steadily harder. Stiles had to squeeze the base of his cock to hold himself back. He wasn't ready for this to be over, was NOT going to come before Derek had, even though Derek seemed to be settling in for a proper session. He was now running his hands over his thigh, ignoring his cock, though by this time it was fully hard and Stiles thought (hoped) he could see a bead of pre-come glistening at the tip.

Derek closed his eyes when he finally stroked himself from root to tip. Stiles wished that he'd thought to get a camera with sound, because he bet Derek was moaning now. Derek set a smooth, steady rhythm with a twist at the top and Stiles did his best to mimic it, though he was so close to the edge that he wasn't sure he'd be able to last.

Derek was biting his lip again, left hand still teasing at his nipple as his right sped up, stroking his cock with the rhythm of someone who wants to get off. Stiles sped up too, and just managed to hold out until he saw the first jet of white hit Derek's belly before he came so hard he got come all over the desk.

He stared at the screen, breathing harshly. Derek was sprawled on the bed, still cupping his cock, fingers in the come on his stomach. Stiles sat motionless, watching him. After a few moments that felt like forever, Derek moved. Stiles expected him to reach for the tissues, clean himself up, but instead Derek headed straight for the dresser….and the camera.

Derek picked it up, looking at it with the hint of a smirk on his face. He stared straight into the lens and mouthed:

"When you're eighteen," before turning the camera off.

Stiles took a deep breath, and then another; then moved over to his bed so he could get his lube.

* * *

**55.**  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging!  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Derek

Erica took the parcel from the delivery man, signing on the pad he held out to her. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and she felt hot all over. Thankfully the company was as good as its word and the packaging was plain. She barely heard the delivery man wish her a nice day, she nodded vaguely and shut the door, walking up the stairs to the bedroom. 

She unwrapped the box, which had an elegant, black design, and ripped that open, inhaling the clean silicone smell coming from the box. She been thinking about this ever since she had spoke to Derek about getting it, about using it. She had barely been able to concentrate.

Erica pulled out the harness and dildo, frowning as she figured out how to put them together. Once she got that sorted she stood up, stripping her clothes. She put the harness on, re-arranging it until it felt comfortable, resting against her pelvis nicely. She opened her wardrobe and looked at her reflection in the full length mirror on the door. She wrapped a hand around the dildo – her cock – she thought with a thrill – and gave it a stroke. 

She wanted to use it. To pound into Derek violent and hot, until he broke around her, Alpha pride be damned. She slid her hand down the shaft, pushing it against her clit, grinding slightly until she shuddered, moaning softly. 

“Erica?” Derek appeared at her door and she turned to face him, smirking. Derek’s jaw dropped. 

“Like what you see?” Erica asked, skin flushing hotter under Derek’s gaze. 

“It arrived then,” Derek said. “You want to use it?”

“Yes,” Erica said, voice wavering. “I want to fuck you,” she said, voice stronger this time. 

“Ok,” Derek said. His hand came up to cover hers on her cock, and he slid it up and down, watching her squirm. “Now?”

“Yes,” Erica said, pulling her hand free to push Derek towards the bed. The remains of the packaging got swept to the floor, and Derek shifted back towards the head on the bed.

Eric knelt on the bed, awkward with the heavy weight between her legs. She managed to position herself so she could tug at Derek’s clothes, flinging them across the room. 

Derek was hard, a drop of liquid at the head. Erica leaned down and licked it up, inhaling the deep scent of Derek, strongest here. Derek gasped and lifted his hips. Eric grinned at him. 

“We need something-” Erica started, but Derek shook his head, and grabbed Erica’s hips, pulling her closer until he could lick at her cock, coating it in saliva. 

“Oh, that’s hot,” she groaned. She tugged at Derek’s hair, but he kept sucking at her until her cock was slick and shiny. He lay back down with a filthy grin on his face, and spread his legs. 

Erica’s own legs were shaking as she knelt between his thighs. She used a hand to stabilise her cock and pressed against Derek’s hole. She tried to keep the pressure steady until Derek just _gave_ and she slid in. 

“Fuck,” Derek ground out, back arched. 

“Oh god,” Erica breathed, leaning back until she could see where she was sliding in and out of Derek, cock shiny and slick. She thrust harder, jolting Derek up the bed a bit. 

Derek grunted, curling one hand around his dick, twisting his wrist. Erica felt a burst of pleasure every thrust, cock coming to push against her clit, she wasn’t going to come from this, but it wouldn’t take much more. She kept up thrusting until Derek’s thighs shuddered around her and he came over his contracting stomach muscles. 

“Fuck,” she swore, “fuck.” 

Derek panted, boneless beneath her. She pulled out slowly, steadying herself with a hand on Derek’s hip. Derek groaned as she slid out, and she felt the resistance from his spasming muscles. 

Erica pulled off the harness, trying to restrain herself so she didn’t break the straps. She freed herself eventually and swirled a finger round her clit, groaning at how wet she was. The direct pressure was just right and she slid her other fingers into herself, crying out as she came.

* * *

**56.**  
 **Warnings:** Feminization and cross-dressing, teensy bit of humiliation, maybe D/s   
**Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging  
 **Pairing:** (Implied Jackson/Lydia)  
  
“What would they say, hm?” she murmurs, shoving her small hands in the dip of his back. When his face presses into the mattress, his lip-gloss smears the sheets blush pink, just like her fingernails biting into his thighs over the cut of his lacy stockings. “What would people say if they knew you liked to get fucked? The captain of the lacrosse team likes to get fucked?”

He moans, blinking up at her kneeling behind him with her hands on his waist. Her red curls fall just below her nipples, darkening the shadow between her breasts. She’s wearing her strap-on. The slick dildo juts out between her legs, hot pink because she loves her irony.

The pressure always overwhelms him, making him shake and fist his hands in the sheets, even if it doesn’t hurt. She bought the… equipment from the best online stores, because that’s what she does – wants the best, gets the best. It probably doesn’t matter in the moment, but fuck if he doesn’t want what she wants.

He whispers her name, just once, and she’s pushing in, nails digging into his hips, and then grasping at his shoulders so she can get the proper angle, molding him into what she needs.

He can get off like this, cock pressed into the mattress, or sometimes just hanging there, or constricted in whatever panties she’s put him in until it hurts to feel good. 

And he does. He hurts all over and it’s good. She’s good. She’s fucking him until his legs shake and go. She’s fucking him until he’s coming, crying out and grabbing at her wrists.

“Good girl,” she whispers into the nape of his neck, and then she’s pulling out. She slowly removes the straps, knowing he’s still listening.

She lies down next to him, sliding one hand down her stomach and another over the small of his back.

“Pretty girl,” she says around a grin, and then he’s listening to her arch against the bedspread.

 **57.**  
Warnings: fingering   
Kink/Trope(s) Used: finger banging (although it didn't really get to the "banging"  
Pairing: Scott/Allison  


Allison is waiting on the bed when Scott steps out of the bathroom, wet hair clinging to his forehead, hand clutching his towel closed around his hips. She shifts her weight, heart beating a little too fast at her neck and throat. "Hey," she whispers, her smile a nervous stretch of lips, fingers plucking at the comforter since she can't seem to stop moving.

"Hey," Scott whispers back, and he manages a smile too, just as nervous, but there's heat there, which makes it a little easier to breathe. 

She meets him on the edge of the bed, up on her knees, the over large t-shirt brushing at the tops of her thighs as she reaches for him. Her hands catch his hips, fingers curling into the soft warmth of the towel, thumbs stroking the shower damp skin where she can reach. She ducks her head until her forehead rests on his chest, huffing out a breath that's half laugh, "I'm nervous."

"Me too," Scott admits, and his hands are in her hair, drawing her head back so she can see his smile. "But I want to do this."

"So do I." Allison pushes up to steal his mouth in kiss, gets a little lost in the press of lips and tongue, the slick edge of his teeth. She pushes at the towel until there's a soft thump and an endless press of warm skin beneath her hands. Easing back she makes room for him on the bed. The mattress dips as Scott settles onto his back, pillow beneath his hips, a long sprawl of warm muscle that makes her itch to climb on top of him. 

Instead she reaches for the bedside table and grabs the small bottle of lube. Her hands shake and she takes a deep breath to steady herself, aroused and nervous in equal measure. She crawls between his legs, smiling when he bends his knees to make room for her. 

"Okay so, if I do anything you don't like, or if something doesn't feel comfortable, you need to let me know." 

"It'll be fine," Scott says, but he's taking deep breaths too and she can feel it, the nervous energy in the room, and if she were to look carefully she imagines she would see a glimmer of gold in his eyes.

"I'm sure it will be too." She smiles, welcoming her exasperation with him if only so it makes her feel a little more in control, that this isn't as big a deal as they're making it. "Promise that if you don't like something, you'll tell me."

Scott huffs. "Okay, yes, I will tell you." 

Allison nods her head and thumbs open the lube. The small crack as it opens is loud and she has to bite back a grin at how awkward it feels. Not uncomfortable, just unsure, but she's willing to test the waters and see where this will take them. 

Lubing up one finger she braces her hand on Scott's knee, the other carefully trailing down beneath his balls to investigate the small opening. Scott sucks in a surprised breath at the first touch of her finger, and she watches his face as she drags her finger back and forth. She goes slow, casually pressing in a little before going back to circling. 

When she decides to press for more she adds more lube to her finger, her own breath loud in her ears. She presses her finger inside and it's hard to breath with the too warm skin and the hot clench of muscle around the tip of her finger. Scott swallows, eyes closed, and Allison bites her lips, doesn't look away from his face as she wiggles the tip of her finger.

His eyes shoot open and he lets out a half grunt, is unable to keep from shifting his hips.

"Did that hurt?" Allison asks, fingers tight on his knee, ready to pull back if he gives the word. She hopes he doesn't because this is something she thinks she can get addicted to, enjoys seeing Scott splayed out in front of her, cock hard and squirming on her finger.

"No." Scott's voice sounds strangled in his throat and he tries to clear his throat. "No, keep going."

Allison smiles and presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. "Okay."


	4. Group D (with warnings)

**58.**  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging, clothes sharing  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Lydia

[](http://imgur.com/GoY9IQq)

**59.**  
 **Warnings:** Somnophilia, Incest  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Somnophilia, Fingering  
 **Pairing:** Laura/Derek

[](http://imgur.com/SXWQSsR)

**60.**  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Fingerbanging  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Lydia

[](http://imgur.com/06bbwtr)

**61.**  
 **Warnings:** Possibly Underage?  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used:** Pegging, Voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Stiles (with a side order of peeping!Peter)

**Pegging Stiles**

So when Erica had said she wanted to play Catwoman to his Batman, this wasn’t exactly what Stiles had been expecting. But hey. When in ‘Gotham City’...

Peter, of course, wasn't planning on missing a thing.

[](http://imgur.com/YP9z68j)

**62.**  
 **Warnings** : None  
 **Kink/Trope(s) Used** : body hair/shaving  
 **Pairing** : Derek/Stiles

[](http://imgur.com/qp4UQUv)


	5. Group A (no warnings)

**1.**

The cold rain and my stern insistence it was over had done nothing to convince him to stay away. I watched him through the window, hunched over in his rain-drenched hoodie, fisting the key he wore around his neck. The key I’d told him to leave on the cabin’s doorstep a fortnight before.

It had to end. There was too much at risk, the consequences grim if I was caught with someone less than half my own age. A teenager. 

Lightning flashed and he cringed as if slapped. With a grimace I yanked the door open. His head shot up and the hope on his face stabbed through me as surely had an arrow found its mark. My glare did nothing but urge him forward and he rushed in, a mumbled “thanks” barely caught.

I closed the door. He stood dripping onto the pinewood, looking the part of drenched puppy he played unexpectedly well. Before he could peel his hoodie off I raised a hand. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiled. Strange on a face usually bearing a scowl. “I know you said not to but I had to see you again.” 

He dropped his gaze when faced with my glare but then raised his chin, defiant and proud as only he was capable. He smelled of rain and expensive cologne, the bulge in his jeans full of promise.

My cock lurched in response, a rush of heat and pure fucking want punching me in the groin and making my ass ache. I tried to hide my reaction but knew by the quickly-shielded victory in his eyes that he’d seen. 

I glanced at the chain around his neck. “Give me the key.” 

The shattered look was back. The reluctance as he obeyed restored the balance, putting it back into my hands. I slid the chain around my neck. It was cold, bitterly so, reminding me of my promise: _this is the last time._

I grabbed him, whirling him around and pushing him against the door. His mouth met mine and I devoured him, hot tongues clashing as the fierce hold I’d held these past weeks gave way. His urgency sent fire through me and I stripped him, drenched clothes tossed aside with my own joining thereafter, and soon his naked body was once again pressed against the door.  
I grappled him with my hands, smashing my hard and weeping cock against his own. It throbbed against me, each pulse driving me mad with the need to devour him. 

So young, so perfect, every exquisite muscle beautifully defined... I pushed the keen awareness of my own less firm, less hard body aside, the persistent _why do you want me, I’m so fucking old_ flashing unbidden in my mind. 

I grew angry then. “This is why,” I muttered against his mouth and he did not question my words, knowing how I warred internally with this question.

Instead he answered by grabbing my cock and balls in his huge, strong hand, leaving me gasping as he brought me to my knees with each hard stroke. 

He joined me on the floor, covering my body with his. He smiled, the happiness on his face oddly passionate. We'd been here before, he and I. He glanced at the key round my neck but said nothing.

I lifted my legs and he slid between them, panting, his skin slick and warm, his cock weeping with readiness. Without preamble he slid his hands under my knees, pushed them up and plunged into me. 

My scream was primal as a wolf’s. 

I canted my head back, a cry of neediness that brought me no shame exploding from my lips. So masterful, my young warrior. His cock stroked into me, faster and harder, too damn big and splitting me apart but I loved it, fucking loved it, his face a grimace of determination as he took me as only he could.

Reaching between my legs I grabbed my cock, wet and swollen and aching for release. The floor beneath me was cold and hard and unforgiving, but the pleasure as he fucked me and I pumped my cock hard, gritting into it, chased all my pains and doubts and determination to end this away. 

His explosion inside me came then, hot and impossibly mind-blowing, star-defying. I knew as I joined him, my come mingling with his, that I was lost.

“Jackson.” 

He hesitated, then looked at me, wariness turning to triumph as I slid the key back over his head. 

* * *

**2.**

It started out innocently enough. A friendly shoulder squeeze here, a hug there, and excessive cuddling during movie nights. After all physical affection between friends, especially female friends, was not exactly unusual as per the usual societal standards. The night Lydia found Allison beneath her window calling up to her though she couldn’t help but become suspicious of herself.

The night they were celebrating surviving their relationships, for being that much stronger for all shit they’ve been through, and Allison gave her a celebratory smack on the ass the truth of the matter rang like a clarion bell in her mind. Lydia broke it down.

_Curiosity._

_Interest._

_Physical attraction._

_Uncontrollable reaction._

It was an unexpected development.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Another floral skirt.” Lydia sighed, it was maddening. At least there were no flowers in her hair this time. Though the giggling was excessive, and really? Was it absolutely necessary to act that coy? Harris had decided to be an ass, one little “episode” and Lydia was suddenly a damsel in distress he wouldn’t stop fawning over, the idiot. It was annoying and vaguely creepy, damn him. She should've put a stop to it sooner and whatever Allison was trying to do though was not helping. So Lydia had no choice but to go and help herself. The crowd even parted for her predatory stalk, _as they should._

The poor guy never knew what hit him and just like that Lydia was back on top. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Allison's hair was pulled back into a french braid, Lydia liked that.

“Welcome back Ms. Martin!” She dimpled at her when they got back to the house after school. Mr. Argent was at some sort of work meeting so they had the place to themselves.

“Look, I adore you but that skirt is absolutely ridiculous.” Lydia announced as she breezily moved past her to sit primly at the edge of the bed. Allison simply raised an eyebrow in response and disappeared down the hall. Lydia was carefully re-applying her lipgloss when Allison came back fifteen minutes later dressed to the nines.

Lydia felt her breath catch.

She wore a crisp white dress with a blue windsor tie and fitted vest. Sleek black dress pants emphasized the slender curve of her hips and led down to black silk dress socks. Allison’s walked forward, hands in pockets and a somewhat serious expression on her face. Her walk was more of a strut, completely different from her everyday sway.

Lydia froze. They’d never dived into it this quickly before.

Allison stopped in front of her, gently removed the gloss from her hands. “Hey there gorgeous.” She lovingly stroked Lydia’s cheek, swiped a thumb across her lips to catch the color there. “You did so well in school today. I'm very proud of you.” She brought her thumb up to suck the flavor off with a satisfied hum. Lydia couldn’t blink, suddenly felt her body flush hot as she allowed herself to be eased backward and further up on the bed.

“Hmmm yes, that’s my girl.” Allison grinned, pleased as she slid Lydia’s panties off.

“I do try.” Lydia murmured archly, voice husky with anticipation.

Allison frowned. “You’ll do more than try.” She huffed, grabbed her by the nape of the neck and pulled her up into a kiss as she slid smoothly between her legs. “My girl is the fucking star.” She snarled hungrily against Lydia’s mouth, palming the weight of her breast and pressing her into the mattress. Allison doesn’t curse, never uses foul language, but...

“ _Daddy--!_ ” Lydia groaned, abruptly aware of how cool the air felt against thighs, of how many layers they both were wearing.

“That’s right beautiful.” Allison purred, allowing her to fall back onto the mattress. “Hike your skirt up for me baby.” Lydia did as she was bid, breath catching as Allison opened her slacks to pull out her dick. It was thick, of the best quality silicone, and gleamed wetly as it was slicked up.

“Good girl.” Allison praised, caught her by the hips and pulled her close with surprising strength. Lydia was breathing faster, whining as slender fingers gave her the barest amount of lubed coverage before she was pressing forward. Fingers biting into the swell of ass as Allison pulled her up onto her dick.

It burned, it **ached**. It was _so. fucking. good._

“Good girl.” Allison panted, hips working in tight, vicious circles. “Good girl!”

Lydia fought, thrashed, and came screaming.

“ _Yes daddy! **Yes!**_ ” 

* * *

**3.**

This was something that happened in questionable porn, not real life. Only his life was a sci-fi special with a hint of Supernatural, and it wasn’t like Jackson didn’t look like any of a million twinky porn stars. It was when Isaac started thinking of Derek in terms of a Leather Daddy that the whole complicated simile fell apart. 

That breathless little whine might as well be a porno, Isaac held Jackson against his chest, one hand curled possessively around the wing of his shoulder-blade the other sliding down Jackson’s lower back stopping him from wriggling. Isaac hummed against Jackson’s cheek mouthing over the sharp jut of bone. His fingers bumped into Derek’s—two, no three- fingers deep in Jackson’s ass. 

Isaac could imagine it perfectly, the slick shine of lube, Jackson’s thighs spread across Isaac’s hips, and the raw skin of his hole as Derek forced himself deeper. Felt saliva flood his mouth picturing it, he nosed his way down the curves of Jackson’s face until Jackson pressed their mouths together. Jackson kissed like he needed it to stop from crawling out of his skin. 

“Like this.” Derek muttered, wet hand grabbing Isaac’s. 

Jackson pulled away from his mouth, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth, eyes unfocused and blown completely wide. “F _u_ ck.” He hissed, drawing the vowel sound out obscenely. It was tight, Derek’s thick knuckles sliding against his own fingers until they were both wedged inside and pressing Jakson open. 

“Another.” 

Jackson made an aborted whimpering sound low in his chest and pushed his face under Isaac’s chin. God there was lube _everywhere_ , he had to be dripping with it, but it did mean the slide of another finger into Jackson’s ass was slick. He had to force his middle finger into the tight press. 

It was a bit like holding hands with Derek, and a whole lot not like it either. Their fingers were tangled; hard not to be when squeezed so close. Jackson mouthing blindingly at Isaac’s throat to muffle the sounds he would get all pissy about being teased about later. Right now he kept whining while Derek fucked him open.

“Haaa.” Isaac breathed against Jackson’s hair as he slide his cock home, looser now than usual. Derek didn’t give Jackson very long to adjust, just pushed his fingers back inside. They both jolted at that, Isaac at the sudden friction and Jackson because he was being opened wider than he had ever been before. Jackson swore pitifully, wide-eyed-Bambi stare aimed at Isaac. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” his words coming out shuddery and less mocking than he intended. 

Jackson bit him.

Jackson dug his teeth in when Derek lined up his cock. Isaac had never felt anything like it, and probably never would again. The hot, wet, head sliding along the underside of his own dick. There wasn’t room for two, but he made them fit, pressed up against each other while Jackson struggled to breathe properly. 

Derek did give them time to relax this time, fingers tangled with Isaac’s where they were pressed to the tight, tense lines of Jackson’s waist. Not that it helped any, Isaac came helplessly the moment Derek started to move, groaning and curling his toes in the blanket. Left him panting with Derek giving him a look over one of Jackson’s shoulders that seemed a bit like pride. He lay there, sensitive and moaning while Derek fucked Jackson, pressing the sharp jut of Isaac’s hip bones into Jackson’s thighs. 

Derek came inside of Jackson, so very beautiful with his head tossed back and mouth open. 

Jackson was full of come, theirs all mixed together and just beginning to leak out of his stretched hole, so Isaac licked it up. It was okay as long as he didn’t think about it too deeply, it was when he actually thought beyond the startled almost pained sounds that Jackson made that it got a little weird. Derek rumbled silent approval, threading his messy hands in Isaac’s hair and holding him in place. He licked up the rest of the lube taste, pushing deeper. He ate Jackson out like a bitch, mouthing and sucking at him until he was almost crying, fisting the sheets and pushing back against his mouth. 

When he was finally finished mouth wet with saliva and almost hard again just from the taste of himself and Derek, Derek grabbed him again kissing him. Jackson made a muffled, little fucked-out sound from the bed. 

* * *

**4.**

“Derek.” Stiles breathed out slowly, her voice caught in her throat as she stared at her boyfriend lounging in their bed.  


“Stiles.” Derek greeted back, all calm and cool expect for the red flush that tinted his face and ears. She stared wide-eyed for a second more before letting her eyes roam his body.  


He was wearing her red satin lingerie that Lydia had bought her for her last birthday, Stiles had never worn them, mostly because it was kind of embarrassing and Derek had never really gave her any inclination that he would prefer her to wear sexy underwear to bed.  


Well, they were being worned now, and Derek was the one wearing them.   


“Is it my birthday?!” Stiles squeaked, her blood pumping roughly through her veins and she could already feel herself soaking her panties with her want.  


“No…” Derek moaned out and before she could say anything else her eyes caught something she had missed before.  


“Is that-?! Is that my vibrator?!”  


“Stiles stop asking questions and get over here!” Derek growled out and twisted his legs apart, so that she could see clearly her favorite toy inside of him.  


She was on the bed faster then a business man on the last cup of coffee.  


“Are you my bitch today Derek?” Stiles whispered and quickly undressed, she leaned forward and tongued the peaked nipple in front of her. “Have you been a bad girl today? Do you need to be punished.”  


“Yeeeessss.” Derek hissed out. “I’ve been a whore and I need you to show me how it’s done, fuck me deep and raw and show me.”  


“I can do that.” Stiles swallowed and carefully reached out so she could pull out the large strap-on that was partially hidden under a pillow, she quickly strapped it on and removed the vibrator from Derek’s already abused and redden hole. She carefully moved the garter belt straps so that were out of her way.  


“I can fuck you, show you who the real woman of this relationship is, I can fuck you so raw that you’ll be walking funny for days. Derek—fuck.”  


“Yes please!!” Derek cried out, he ripped the panties that were still ridding his lower legs off of him and spread as wide as he could. “Please Stiles!”  


“That’s my girl.” Stiles breathed and smirked widely as she entered her boyfriend in one fell sweep.

* * *

**5.**

Stiles knees give out and he slides down the wall, falls on his ass. His shirt is soaked, sodden with blood, tacky against his skin. Not his blood, someone else’s, but it’s all over him, smeared on his hands, caked in his hair. His chest tightens and he tangles stained fingers in his shirt, tries to draw in air. Panic overwhelms him, his breath reduced to something reedy and thin. The edges of his vision blacken, and he shakes, sucks uselessly for air, his lungs aching. 

Suddenly, Derek is in front of him, filling up Stiles’ space, asking Stiles if he is alright. 

Stiles tugs weakly at his collar, the wet fabric clinging to him, and he can’t _breathe_.

Derek looks him over. Claws out, he shreds Stiles’ shirt, pulls it off him. Stiles shivers, clutches at his arms. Derek shrugs out of his Henley, maneuvers Stiles’ jerky limbs into it. It’s warm, soft and smells like Derek and it surrounds him. It _helps_ and Stiles drags in a stuttered breath. 

Derek spreads a large human hand against Stiles’ chest.

“Breathe,” he says. 

Stiles does. 

-

Stiles puts the shirt in his backpack to take to school and give to Isaac. He didn’t wash it, but he doesn’t think Derek will care. 

But Stiles has a bad day. He’s exhausted, clumsy, and a disaster in class. Harris stands over him, mocking him, humiliating him, wagging a finger and Stiles’ hands shake, his breaths shorten. Stiles grasps his pencil hard. It snaps between his fingers. He shoves a hand into his bag to find another and his knuckles brush the worn fabric of Derek’s shirt. 

Stiles doesn’t know why but he clutches it, twines his fingers in the scratchy-soft fabric, and holds on. He remembers how Derek pressed his hand to Stiles’ chest, took care of him even though Stiles was freaking out. It comforts him, calms him, and Stiles ducks his head, focuses on his schoolwork. 

He doesn’t give the shirt to Isaac.

-

The shirt ends up under his pillow. 

Sometimes at night, when Stiles’ dreams are filled with screams and death and werewolves baying at the moon, and he wakes in a cold sweat, he slides his hand under the pillow and fingers the shirt. He pulls out a sleeve, rubs his cheek against it, and inhales the earthy scent of Derek. It’s soothing. 

-

Of course Stiles’ brain would conflate security with arousal. 

Stiles has his face planted in the shirt, panting from nightmares, and he remembers how Derek’s muscles played underneath it, how the gray fabric stretched across his chest. He remembers Derek looking at him, concerned, how his eyes had tracked Stiles’ every movement. He remembers the encompassing warmth from Derek’s body heat as Derek draped the shirt over him. He remembers Derek’s hands on him, his grip tight, as Derek guided him to the Jeep. 

Stiles shudders.

Stiles’ dick is hard in his pajamas. He strips off his own shirt, lays the Henley across his chest and shoves a hand into his pants, wrapping his fingers around his cock. He sighs in relief and arches, the shirt sliding over his skin. 

Stiles takes one of the sleeves, runs it over his balls while he slowly pumps with the other hand, sliding his thumb over his slit. Stiles’ toes curl. He bites his lip to stifle his moans.

He imagines Derek kissing him, hard and frantic, and in their haste to touch each other, Derek’s shirt tangles between them. When Derek presses against him, the shirt catches, deliciously sliding over Stiles’ dick as they rut together until they come.

He imagines Derek wearing the shirt as he opens Stiles. Stiles’ hands would fist in it, holding on as Derek unravels him with thick clever fingers. He imagines hauling Derek closer by the collar, kissing him, while Derek slides in, his dick stretching Stiles wide, splitting him apart. He imagines Derek fucking him with unrelenting thrusts, pistoning his hips, pumping into Stiles, the shirt rubbing over Stiles’ nipples as Derek moves, tickling the inside of his thighs as Derek hooks his arms under Stiles’ knees, pushing in deeper. He imagines Derek encouraging him to talk, asking him how good it feels to be fucked. Derek would slam into him over and over until he came, burying his dick deep into Stiles’ ass.

Stiles strips his dick roughly, digs his heels into his mattress as his balls tighten and cries out, spattering the shirt as he comes. 

* * *

**6.**

Derek is careful. Always careful. 

His fingers skin down Stiles' smooth, pale back. Dark freckles are dotted all over, like a connect-the-dot that has no design. Stiles shifts slightly but doesn't move otherwise, which is truly amazing considering he's always so animated when he's awake. Not when he sleeps; no, when Stiles sleeps, he doesn't move all that much. Derek would know. This is not the first time they've spent a night together. 

He loves doing this. Waking up next to Stiles' warm, sleeping body and just touching him for a while. Stiles isn't a light-sleeper but he's not hard one either, he's somewhere in-between and that makes it perfect for this kind of thing. 

Derek traces the soft skin on Stiles' back and over the sharper angles where his shoulder blade is sticking out some. People would think Stiles lanky, but he's not; he's lean underneath all those too-big clothes. He's still got a while to fill out, but he'll get there. Maybe he won't have the mass he always complains about lacking, but he's not going to be a stick figure either. Derek leans in, pressing his nose to the back of Stiles' neck just to drink in his sleepy scent, to have more reason to stay pressed against him. 

Stiles makes a noise that's nothing more than a grunt/mumble lovechild. His biorhythms stay steady. 

Derek smirks a little. He rubs his hand down the dip of Stiles' back, to the side over his hip and then sweeping down to his _ass_. Pert, round and perfect. Stiles doesn't move still, doesn't wake up, and Derek's dick is already chubbing. He just works that mound of perfect gently, kneading and squeezing and touching. 

Stiles sighs, long and deep and twitches. Nothing more.

They've taken to stashing a bottle of lube under the pillows, which is convenient for this. Derek pulls his hand away long enough to slick three fingers and come back. He teases down the divide of Stiles' ass, skips along to gently rub at the soft skin behind Stiles' balls. 

Stiles tends to sprawl out on his stomach in his sleep. That just makes things easier though.

Derek stops delaying what he wants, what he _loves_ to do to Stiles when he sleeps, and gently presses his index finger against that tight ring of muscle; it's not _as_ tight while Stiles sleeps. No, he's pretty pliant, in fact. The inner ring is the tight one, but Derek slips past it because it's like Stiles' body was _made_ for him, opens to him whether it's a conscious effort or not. 

Stiles' heart rate finally starts to increase at two fingers knuckle-deep. By three, his breath catches and that moan goes from waking to confused to _pleased_. Stiles _squirms_ , idly spreading his legs wider. Derek presses lazy, loving kisses to Stiles' back. When he twists his wrist just so, finds that angle where he can rub over Stiles' prostate, Derek's cock is hard as fuck when Stiles briefly chokes on a breath. Derek _loves_ that reaction.

He also loves just how relaxed Stiles stays like this. It takes longer to work him when it's midday instead of morning. But now Derek can slide his fingers out and he does. He gets a little more lube for his cock and gives himself a few slow strokes, then inches into better position. He presses in and the breath punches out of him because Stiles' body is just so _welcoming_ to it, lets him sink in with one long thrust. 

Stiles will deny keening later.

Derek covers Stiles, stays _so close_ and starts to move, always slow at first. It doesn't take either of them long in the morning. Stiles braces a hand against the bed and just lets Derek _take_ because he's _that_ goddamn lazy in the mornings.

Derek holds one of those trim hips and both takes and gives, speeds up until they're both breathing hard and neither is sure who is making the most noise. When Stiles makes a high, urgent noise he knows he's close, twists his own hips and _bucks_ \--

Stiles comes with held breath and it only takes a few more desperate thrusts for Derek to tip over the edge, coming with a guttural noise. 

They both slowly relax and Derek gathers Stiles up against him, back to chest, and sighs. Stays inside him, just because. Stiles doesn't mind either.

"Mornin' perv," Stiles mumbles, grinning sleepily.

Derek just smirks and nips at his neck gently.

* * *

**7.**

"Hey girl," the voice, smooth and dangerous, calls to Laura.

Kate Argent is standing there, in the dying light of the day, leaning on the side of her truck. The only reason Laura'd be out here is for Kate, the smug smile on her face say Kate knows that.

"Kate," Laura says, by way of a greeting. She knows it's stupid, she knows it's wrong, but she just can't help herself.

Kate's all short skirts and biker boots. Laura can smell Derek on her from all the way over here.

Kate's laugh rips through the silence of the forest, so loud Laura's almost worried they'll hear it from the house. Kate's laugh isn't a kind one, it's mocking and dangerous. She knows better.

"Fancy seeing you here, sugar." Kate smiles, baring teeth. "Bet you can _smell_ what I've been up to this evening. What excuse did he use this time?"

Laura can feel the rage building inside of her, she can barely stand Kate talking about her baby brother, let alone the thought of her touching him, fucking him. "Don't," Laura growls, eyes flashing.

"Oh honey, you're so far gone, and how filthy is that? Do you know the things I let him do to me?" Kate's walked right into Laura's space, the smell of Derek is _overpowering_.

"Shut up!" Laura's breaths are getting heavier, she can smell him all over, she can see the marks he's left on Kate's neck, her breasts. How fucking stupid is he?

"Do you know he talked about mating me today? Cuddled me afterwards and traced the marks he'd left. Said we'd be together forever, how fucking naive is that?"

Laura can't take it. Before she knows it she's flipping them around, pinning Kate to the tree.

Kate laughs, she fucking _laughs_. "You are so far gone. It's sweet, really, you want to be his big sister, look after him, bet he doesn't know how badly you want to pin him down, how often you come with his name on your lips."

She shuts Kate up with a rough biting kiss to the lips. She needs her to stop talking. She can taste hints of Derek still in Kate's mouth.

Tracing the bites and marks down Kate's throat she growls at each one. Derek should be marking her. Fuck, no he shouldn't, he should find a nice girl, someone who's good and right, not Laura, definitely not Kate.

Kate's hand is on her shoulder, pushing her to her knees. Laura goes, she's in this fucking deep, why not?

"I've got a surprise for you..." Kate taunts as she spreads her legs, reaches up and pulls of her soiled underwear. The smell of Derek's so strong, almost like...

"That fucking idiot," Laura curses as she realises, she can smell Derek, the musky smell of him, seeping out of Kate.

When Laura looks up, Kate's smirking. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of letting an animal like him get me pregnant. They'd probably be, what, pups? I don't have time to raise dogs."

Laura lets her claws dig in to Kate's thigh. She should tell her to go to hell. She should tell their mom, their alpha. Fuck, she should tell Gerard or Chris or any Argent. What Kate's doing isn't right, it's fucking rape. But Derek would hate her, he called Kate his mate and she can't lose Derek.

"Shut up," Laura hisses and leans forward. She doesn't want to be excited about this, but she's never tasted Derek before. She'd never get this without Kate, without Derek's stupidity, it's so wrong... .

She laps carefully at Kate's lips, the salty burst of _Derek_ on her tongue, it's good, it's so good. She can let her eyes close and try and strip away the taste of Kate, the soft, girlish thighs hiked up over her shoulders.

She can think of him, little grunts and whines. She doesn't care if it's good for Kate, she chases him deep into Kate, when she can't get any further she uses her fingers, digging out his taste until it's like he was never there.

She'll rub her own scent all over Kate, she'll eat her out until she comes, over and over again, until all taste of Derek is gone, flushed out of Kate's cunt by her own juices.

When she's done she'll cry, washing herself until the scent's gone.

Later that night they'll sit in the livingroom, Derek fifteen and moody, Laura watching, wanting him, trying to be the annoying older sister when all she wants is to pin him down and fuck him.

Except they don't. Because that's the night their house burns.

* * *

**8.**

When people find out that Derek and Stiles are a _thing_ , they always think three things:

1\. Derek is the toppiest top ever to top.

2\. The sex is kinky as all getout.

3\. Stiles is a screamer.

Except they’re wrong.

Despite his penchant for throwing Stiles against hard surfaces and growling threats while he towers over his betas, Derek is happiest on his hands and knees, ass in the air while Stiles pounds into him from behind, or on his back with his arms and legs wrapped around Stiles like some sort of were-octopus. 

Not that Stiles minds at all. Stiles freaking _loves_ topping. They’ve tried it the other way around, but it wasn’t as good, wasn’t as…natural. It was awkward and hesitant, and yeah Stiles _really_ likes his prostate, but he loves the way it feels to be buried deep in Derek so much more.

So Derek isn’t a top, and Stiles isn’t a bottom, and to fuck with stereotypes even more, Derek may be the big bad alpha, but he’s the chef in the pack, likes rom-coms, and although he won’t admit to it, has a shockingly large number of pink shirts in the back of his closet. When Stiles found them, Derek swore Laura bought them for him as a joke, but Stiles knows better.

Yeah. Derek is the girl in their relationship, and Stiles fucking adores that about him.

And their sex isn’t kinky. Yes, they have their moments (like the time Stiles fucked Derek over the hood of his Camaro because seriously, have you _seen_ that car, and yes it was broad daylight and yes they were on the side of the highway where anyone could have seen, but the Camaro is a sex car and he won’t let anyone tell him differently), but most times they fuck in their bed with their trusted favorites, good ol’ missionary and doggy style.

Stiles loves it. He likes the kinkier stuff, but the sex is about being with Derek rather than how he’s with him. 

And he’s never asked Derek, but he knows Derek craves the intimacy. He thinks it has to do with Kate, because what little Derek’s told him about Kate gives him the impression their relationship was all about the sex. And that sex…well, Derek’s only spoken of it here and there, but Stiles can gather from those bits and pieces that it was kinky. The kind of kinky that would have enticed a sixteen-year-old virgin, would have stroked his ego and manipulated him in all the ways Kate wanted.

So Stiles gives Derek all the intimacy he can because he wants Derek. Not just his body, but his mind and heart too, as cheesy as it sounds.

And lastly, Stiles is not a screamer, thankyouverymuch. In fact, sex is probably the only thing that can really shut him up and make him focus.

Derek, on the other hand…

“Fuck, Stiles, oh _god_ –”

Stiles grins and twists his fingers even further, massaging Derek’s prostate relentlessly.

Derek is twisting and writhing and _moaning_ , and it’s so fucking obscene that Stiles decides he’s going to get Derek off just like this, with just the persistent, merciless thrust of his fingers on that one spot that always turns Derek into a melted pile of alpha goo.

Derek’s legs are spread wide, his cock lying hard and leaking on his stomach. His arms are gripping the headboard above him and his back is arching beautifully, and when he comes, clamping down hard on Stiles’s fingers and groaning loudly, Stiles wishes he could pause everything and just keep Derek forever in that moment of absolute bliss.

Stiles doesn’t wait for Derek to come down from his high. He wraps a hand around himself, stroking hard and fast until he’s coming too, then cleans them both off with the wet towel he’d laid on their nightstand earlier. He collapses on the bed and pulls Derek to him, tucking Derek’s head into the crook of his neck.

“That was good,” Derek murmurs, sleepy and relaxed.

Stiles hums. “Yeah, it was.” His hand drifts down to where Derek is still loose and open, and he slips two fingers inside.

Derek sighs and relaxes even more, drifting off until he’s snoring softly in Stiles’s ear.

Stiles pulls him in tighter. Yeah, he thinks, there are a lot of things people get wrong about them, but he doesn’t care because they fit together in all the right ways.

* * *

**9.**

Allison is asleep in his bed, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of black lacy panties. 

It's two o'clock in the morning and Stiles is exhausted, so instead of questioning why Allison is there he strips down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs and climbs in beside her. He's careful not to touch, and it should be weird but he's too tired to really think about it.

*

Stiles wakes with a gasp, his dick rock hard and surrounded by glorious wet heat. He sees Allison smirking down at him, and realizes he's buried deep inside of her. She grins, grinding her hips, and Stiles makes a strangled noise. 

"Next time you find me sleeping in your bed," she says, "I want you to fuck me. And if you wake me up while you're doing it, you won't get to come."

Stiles groans and Allison rides him hard until he's swearing and coating her insides with his come.

*

Stiles can't get her words out of his head. He fantasizes about it, pictures it while his hand is wrapped tightly around his dick, jerking himself desperately.

*

Allison is sleeping in his bed again. Like the first time, she's wearing nothing more than one of his shirts and a pair of panties. Stiles licks his lips as he stares at her. She looks so relaxed and innocent, like the naïve teenager that all of them should be but none of them are.

His dick starts to harden and Stiles hesitates for a moment. He wants to do this, _she_ wants him to do this, so he strips off his clothes and carefully climbs onto the end of the bed.

Allison is on her back, one hand curled near her face and the other splayed over her stomach, shoved under the edge of his shirt. Stiles holds his breath as he curls his fingers around the top of her panties. He pulls them off slowly, over the curve of her ass and the jut of her hips, down her legs to drop them on the floor.

She doesn't move, and Stiles feels a thrill of triumph, pressing his hands to her inner thighs. She's warm and pliant as her legs fall open, and Stiles draws in a sharp breath, staring at the dark curls and the folds of her center.

Stiles palms at his dick to try and ease the ache. He reaches out a finger to touch between her legs, feeling the slight dampness there. She's not nearly wet enough for him, and Stiles carefully stretches over her to grab the lube in his bedside table.

He warms some in the palm of his hand before slipping two slick fingers inside of her. He watches his hand move against her as he spreads the lube, the heat of her making his hips hitch with want. Allison whimpers softly and Stiles pauses, waits until she's settled again before pulling his fingers free. He slicks his dick and pushes her legs far apart.

The first press in is overwhelming. Allison is soft and tight and so fucking incredible Stiles has to choke back a groan. He takes a moment to breathe, and then he's pulling out and pushing back in as deep as he can. 

Stiles tries to hold back, rolling his hips so that his dick slides smoothly rather than with rough thrusts, watching as it disappears into her over and over, but it isn't long before Stiles is aching and ready to come. He shifts, leaning over her and holding his weight up on trembling arms. The change in angle is perfect, making him gasp as hot sparks of pleasure pool at the base of his spine.

Allison is completely still, and Stiles whimpers quietly as he stares down at her peaceful face. She's limp and unresponsive, and it hits him suddenly that Allison is _asleep_ and Stiles is fucking her.

A broken moan rips from him, his fingers twisting in the sheets, and he comes _hard_. His dick jerks and pulses, filling Allison full of his come, his hips grinding against her. For a moment Stiles is worried he woke her, that she'll blink up at him and shatter the illusion, but that doesn't happen.

She's still sleeping, mouth parted and eyes moving rapidly beneath her eyelids. Stiles grins and doesn't bother to clean either of them up before he lays down next to her and falls asleep to the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

* * *

**10.**

"There is no way I failed this test," Stiles says, hating the way his voice quavers. He compensates by jabbing his finger boldly at the test he's just slammed down on Mr. Harris' desk. A failing grade means getting it signed by a parent and he _can't_ do anything else to disappoint his dad.

Mr. Harris looks up from the halfgraded homework scattered around his desk. "You deserved exactly what you got Mr. Stilinski."

He gives Stiles one of the heated looks that have become increasingly common lately. "If you're willing to put in the effort, and think you can convince me otherwise however..." Harris stands, not bothering to hide the way his trousers tent obscenely in the front, and walks toward the supply closet attached to his classroom.

Stiles watches him, and then takes a deep breath and licks his lips. He'd known where this might go, when he came by so late, detention long since released. He's not stupid. Still, it's a long minute before he can get his legs to work so he can follow. 

He's pushed to his knees as soon as the door is closed behind them.

One of Harris' hands slides from his shoulders to his throat, forcing his neck back, before moving up to cup his jaw. His thumb caresses over Stiles' bottom lip and Stiles opens his mouth involuntarily under the slight pressure, his breath hitching when Harris slips his thumb inside, rubbing over his molars and forcing his jaw wider.

"Such a pretty mouth. It gets you into so much trouble, though. How many times have I given you detention because of it? "Mr. Harris leans close then, and whispers, "Do you want to know a secret? Every time I sent you to detention, I thought about bringing you back here. Making you put this mouth to better use. That's all a little slut like you deserves. You come into my classroom with the rest of the little brats, acting like you own the world, like you're invincible and nothing can touch you... But I'm going to touch you, and maybe, if you apply yourself like you never do in class, I might even be willing to help your grade out. Hmm? What do you think Mr. Stilinski?"

Stiles gulps, but he doesn't fight when Harris drags his dick out, slapping it against his cheek, before sliding the tip across his lips. He stops just short of pushing into Stiles' mouth though.

And then Harris is stepping back. His dick is flushed and dripping, standing out from the perfect pleats of his trousers, and Stiles' cheeks burn in humiliation when he finally gets it. He's going to have to work for this. Harris is going to make Stiles take the initiative, because then... then he's not being forced.

He _needs_ this grade though. So he crawls forward until he's close enough to let his tongue dart out to taste the tip of his teacher's dick. He recoils immediately at the bitter taste, but before he can get up, give up on this as a lost cause, Harris is grabbing the back of his head and holding him in place. He fucks deep into Stiles' mouth in one go, and doesn't let up, even when Stiles scrabbles at his thighs to get away. To breathe. 

When he's finally allowed to wrench free, coughing, he falls forward. Tears streak down his cheeks, and a line of pre-come clings to his lips. Harris reaches for it, gathering it up, before he smears it over Stiles' lips, shushing him.

"Fuck," Mr. Harris hisses, "I knew you'd have a hot little mouth." His heavy gaze is smug. 

Stiles tries to back away, but the closet is small and there's nowhere to go. Not that it matters. Harris is just standing there, disconcertingly calm, and lazily fisting his dick.

"I thought you needed that grade, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles closes his eyes, fighting tears as he struggles back up. He gags again when he takes Harris' dick again, but he manages to hold still when the man fucks his mouth, brutal until his come floods to coat Stiles' tongue.  
___

"Your teacher called. Mr. Harris right?" Sheriff Stilinski says later that night. He's grinning at Stiles like he hasn't in a long time. "He wanted to let me know personally how hard you've been working to bring your chemistry grade up."

Stiles flinches. His dad doesn't notice.

"I'm proud of you kid."

* * *

**11.**

She wasn’t going to keep doing this. She was going to stop. This would be the last time. 

It happened by accident the first time. Lydia’d found a spell for a scrying mirror and they had a hoard of pixies breathing down the packs necks. Contrary to popular belief, pixies were not all cute, fuzzy, sparkle-dusted rays of sunshine. 

They were malicious, malevolent and spiteful. 

So, she made the scrying mirror. She thought she could use it to spy on the pixies. 

At first, she wasn't’ sure what she was looking at. The mirror was clouded over partially - smokey and dim. She tweaked her spell ingredients and tried again and this time it came up clear and pristine. 

It was Stiles and Derek. 

She startled, rearing back slightly and then… inched closer. It was _Stiles and Derek_.

Stiles… his body….of course she knew what he looked like. Not as built as Scott or Jackson and especially not like Danny or Derek. Slender. Lean. 

But she hadn’t expected the lines of him to be so… lithe. Stiles on his knees, Derek flat on his back, legs wrapped around Stiles slim waist, Stiles’ long fingers curved around Derek’s knees and Jesus had Stiles always had hands like that? Stiles fucked Derek with purpose, with precision - the same concentration on his face as when they were preparing spells or dealing with wolfsbane. Focused and intense. Eyes dark and steady. The snap of his hips made Lydia’s panties wet. Stiles rolled his torso, thrusting into Derek. 

From Derek’s reactions, Stiles was doing it _perfectly_. Lydia felt a thrill spike deep in her belly and between her legs. 

Holy fuck. 

Stiles grinned as he looked down at Derek and then pumped Derek’s cock slowly, steadily, all while fucking him evenly and deeply. Derek’s eyes were half lidded, head thrown back, baring his throat for Stiles. 

Lydia squirmed at the sight, bit down on her lower lip.

It was over too quickly for her liking, Derek arched his back and came with a shout while Stiles fucked him through it, leaning over Derek, caging him with his arms, holding himself up while Derek stared at him adoringly, panting his name. 

Stiles licked into Derek’s mouth and then bit down on Derek’s bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. When Stiles came, his body was like art - poised, tensed and the way he said Derek’s name, the way he clutched at Derek and then surged forward and kissed him again - all tongues and teeth had Lydia reaching down into her pants. 

She got herself off in less than a minute - wet, slippery and hot from watching Stiles and Derek. 

And afterward…

Afterward, Stiles slipped out of Derek both of them groaning in protest. Stiles was out of view of the mirror for a moment, coming back with a towel and he cleaned Derek off carefully and slowly, all while Derek watched him sleepy and sated. Stiles crawled into bed, limbs moving in a way she’d never seen from him before, a smile on his lips. He tugged and pulled until he got Derek where he wanted him - spooning against Stiles’ back, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. 

Lydia didn’t feel bad for watching them fuck, but she felt bad for watching them like this. She turned away from the mirror. 

She was back two days later and then again the next day, and the day after that. She didn’t know if what she was watching was in real time or if the mirror saved it for her - saved the two of sliding and grinding against each other, jerking each other off, fucking each other, blowing each other. She didn’t care how it worked, all she cared about was watching the way the light hit their bodies, they way the pawed at each other - sometimes roughly, sometimes tenderly. The way they fucked each time like it was their last. 

She was never giving up her mirror. 

* * *

**12.**

It’s important to point out, Stiles feels, that none of this happened on purpose.

Okay, yes, he was crouched in the bushes out behind the Mahealani house in the dark, and yes he was looking through Danny’s window. But the charges being thrown around were ridiculous. Indecent exposure? Public lewdness? Okay maybe the public lewdness charge was fair, but his pants had stayed on the whole time. Nothing was exposed!!

The thing is, see, that Stiles had been a little worried about Danny. He’d been acting really off since Jackson had left town, and while it was totally possible that he was just sad and missing his best friend, it was also possible that he was in way over his head with something much worse. Scott had repeatedly informed Stiles that Danny smelled as awesome as always, but months of supernatural peril had made Stiles the tiniest bit paranoid.

So Stiles had been maybe a little bit spying on Danny.

He thought he’d see _something_ that would clue him in, something to explain why someone who had always been so bright and shining was now all dim and flickering away.

He didn’t. Nothing, no clues. Just a glum looking Danny, slipping his shirt and jeans off and putting them directly into the hamper. Just Danny, stretching and arching and moving his muscles in a way that made Stiles lose his balance and fall against the side of the house with a dull thud. He’d crouched down low, using the bush as cover when Danny came to the window and peered out.

He could have left then, maybe should have. But he’d still been legitimately worried about Danny, so he mustered all of his stealth and peeked through the window again.

But that's when things got really interesting. Danny was leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing a hand slowly across his abs while he waited for his laptop to wake up. Stiles rubbed his hand against his own stomach, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be as built as that. When Danny leaned forward and navigated his way to Omegle, Stiles breath caught in his throat a bit.

It’s possible that Stiles had forgotten a little bit about why he was really there after that. Possibly. Because Danny’s body was unmarked and he wasn’t exhibiting any sketchy behavior, but he was flashing his dimples at his webcam. And maybe possibly Stiles knew what he was watching before it happened. In his defense, Danny was pretty mesmerizing. The sadness and tension seemed to vanish as he laughed at the guy on the screen. And when his hand slipped into his briefs, his eyes slipped shut and he looked almost happy.

Stiles pressed a hand against the bulge in his jeans when Danny brought his cock out, stroking it slowly for his online audience. His dark eyebrows pulled together in concentration as his legs spread slightly wider. Stiles had vaguely been able to see the guy on the computer putting on a show of his own, but it was nothing compared to watching the way Danny moved under his own hand.

Stiles threw an arm against the windowsill, stuffed his mouth full of his jacket sleeve as he did his best to stroke his cock through his jeans. God how he’d wished the window had been open just slightly, so he could hear the sounds coming from Danny’s slack mouth, hear the filthy words dropping from his lips as he came.

Maybe he was imagining those sounds too hard, and that’s how he managed to miss the sound of the door opening. Maybe his own muffled moans covered the crunch of grass as Danny’s mother approached. Maybe if he’d had awesome werewolf hearing he wouldn’t have been caught with his hand down his pants outside his classmates bedroom window. And maybe if he’d had super werewolf speed, he wouldn’t be sitting on the Mahealani’s back stairs dying of mortification as Mrs. Mahealani informs his father that she won’t be pressing any charges.

Stiles closes his eyes as their voices wash over him, glad that Danny is safe if not hurting. He worries about facing him at school in the morning - partly because Danny will probably know what a creeper Stiles is, but even more because he’ll never be able to forget how incredible the guy looked when he came.

* * *

**13.**

It's the smell of bacon that wakes Derek, blinking bleary eyes at the light streaming in through the windows. It takes him a minute to place it though, mind shuffling through the fog of sleep to figure out where he is and why his arms feel empty. The sheets next to him are cool to the touch, but the air smells warm and homey.

He makes his way downstairs to find Stiles in the kitchen, surrounded by sunlight. The weather looks perfect through the windows, blue skies and endless sun, but Derek's attention is stuck on Stiles at the stove, unaware of Derek behind him.

Derek uses the opportunity to take Stiles in; his wild hair and the bruise on his nape, his firm thighs and knobby ankles. Stiles is wearing the t-shirt Derek had on last night, a navy blue v-neck that looks striking against Stiles' skin. Years ago, it would've been long enough for Stiles to maintain _some_ decency. Now, he's taller, a little broader in the shoulders. Though it'll still flash some collar bone in the front (Derek can picture the sharp blade of it perfectly), it's too short, revealing the swell of Stiles' ass, the creases of his thighs. Soft, thin skin Derek's drawn to.

Stiles steps to the side as Derek pushes off the wall, holding his breath until he can drop to his knees behind Stiles, hands landing on Stiles' thighs to steady him. Something clatters to the counter and Stiles gasps, legs widening. Derek presses his face to Stiles' back and breathes deep. "Don't move," he murmurs.

"Wasn't planning on it," Stiles breathes out on a shudder.

Stiles is warm, still smells of come and lube, but his skin pebbles under Derek's exhale, hair standing on end like it's oriented to Derek's presence. Derek uses his nose to push the t-shirt up, revealing Stiles' ass, Derek's tongue following the crease until he reaches the dip of Stiles' spine. There, their scents mix, and Derek sucks a kiss to make sure it stays that way. 

He drops back down again, nipping bites all over Stiles' ass, quick little pinches of skin between his teeth. His hands come up to soothe the stings and Stiles rocks into the touch, whimpering.

They both know what's next: the first swipe of Derek's tongue over Stiles' hole has them both groaning, but neither of them had the energy to clean up properly last night, so there are still traces of lube for Derek to rub away with his thumb. He tries to be gentle, but Stiles flinches anyway, soft little hurt noises coming from low in his throat. Derek sucks a dirty kiss there after he's done, tongue wet and light, tracing circles until Stiles trembles under his hands.

"Derek," Stiles says; a whimper. His thighs vibrate from the strain, and Derek can hear the scratch of nails against the countertop. Derek growls and pushes Stiles open that much further, tongue following the perineum to lick at Stiles' balls.

It doesn't take long after that, Stiles choking out Derek's name as he gets come all over Derek's shirt. Derek catches him before he collapses and lowers him to the floor, his face bright red. Stiles presses it to the cool tile floor, mouth curved in a pleased grin.

While Stiles catches his breath, Derek eases himself out of his sweats. His hand is warm and he's happy to jerk himself off, but Stiles gives him grabby hands and that's not something Derek can refuse. 

Stiles can't sit up yet, so Derek stretches out next to him, watches Stiles rise up on an elbow and lean over him. Derek wraps a hand around Stiles' neck, thumb resting over his pulse. He tries to hold out, but it's too much: the mingled scents of them, the cotton stretched across Stiles' chest, the tight-perfect grip around his cock.

Derek comes with a growl, Stiles kissing him through it. Soft, wet, sucking kisses that wreck Derek. Stiles doesn't let go of Derek's cock until Derek starts twitching.

He collapses on Derek, then, as they both recover. Which is okay, since Derek is reluctant to move. The tile may be hard, but it'll be months before Stiles comes home again, and Derek wants to touch him as much as possible. 

It's Stiles, though, who ruins the moment, mumbling something about burnt potatoes and crispy bacon.

"Your fault," Derek points out.

Stiles pinches Derek's nipple. "But it's worth it every time."

* * *

**14.**

Title: These cold and damp white mornings

There was a hollowness in her she couldn’t fill.

Three long months. 

Three months since Allison felt Scott’s touch, or anyone’s for that matter. The brush of fingers over her shoulder, the warmth of a hand in hers, the caress of her hair. 

Spending the summer away from Beacon Hills was the right choice to make, no doubt, but it was also isolating and lonely. Her mother’s brother’s family weren’t physically affectionate, which was fine, but it wasn’t until she arrived at home that Allison realized she missed it.

Her father held her close when he picked her up from the airport and pressed a kiss against her temple. 

Lydia hugged her, stroked her hair back from her face and tugged the scarf from around her neck. 

Nighttime was frustrating. She couldn’t find anything to make her feel right, satiated. The dildos were too impersonal and her vibrator wasn’t right, wasn’t warm and didn’t react to her. 

She trained with her father and learned the right way to hunt. She learned by the code and tried to erase the scars her grandfather and Kate had left behind.

Isaac avoided her at all costs. They only had one class together first semester so it wasn’t hard but she and Scott had four together and where Scott was, Isaac was soon behind. Scott threw her a couple soft looks over the first couple weeks of school but didn’t push.

Allison wanted someone to push.

Random pairing groupwork was arguably the most hated of all classroom activities. Of course it meant that Allison and Isaac were forced to be paired together.

Allison didn’t even have to look at Isaac to know he was uncomfortable so she mumbled something about feeling sick before running from the room.

In the hallway Allison ran past a few students but didn’t register them. She slammed into the nearest female bathroom and hunched over the sink. 

She was angry, she was lonely, abandoned and fucking ashamed. 

“Allison?”

She jumped at her name, whirling around and shoving the person who’d touched her shoulder against the stalls behind them, one hand tightly around their neck.

“Whoa, whoa!” Stiles choked out, waving his arms at her. “Friendly! Friendly!”

“Oh shit,” Allison whispered. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she stepped away. “Stiles, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

Her eyes filled with tears and Allison covered her mouth with her hand as if to force everything back inside. Stiles stepped forward and awkwardly put his hands on her shoulders.

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean it.” He drew her into an embrace. Allison clutched at his undershirt and buried her nose into his neck, drawing in a familiar smell, feeling rocked to her core by it.

“ _Stiles_ ,” she murmured against his skin.

The feeling in the room changed immediately, Allison’s breath sending signals to Stiles’ brain he wasn’t expecting.

“Please,” she whispered, feeling him harden against her belly.

“What?” Stiles asked dumbly. Allison drew him with her back to the sinks. She reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down and off, tossed them to the floor, then she perched on the edge of the sink and pulled his hand to her mouth, sucking on them quickly to get them wet before moving it between her legs.

“ _Please_ ,” she repeated.

Stiles tipped his head to rest against hers and moaned quietly as she guided his fingers--his long, lithe fingers--to her pussy. She was already wet and it felt like she’d been permanently lately.

Stiles learned quickly, tentatively thrusting one finger before adding two and working them in and out of Allison while she clutched at his shoulders and clenched around him. Stiles wasn’t particularly finessed but he knew where her clit was and learned how to make her jerk into his hand. Allison clung to him and swore when he added a third finger, getting her wetness all over his hand.

“S-Stiles,” Allison stuttered. “I want to come.”

Stiles pressed his thumb against her clit and crooked his fingers in her at the perfect angle and that was it. She shook against him and cried out.

Allison’s head fell onto Stiles’ shoulder as she came down. She leaned against the sink while her legs shook and he grabbed paper towel to wipe his hand.

“You okay?” Stiles asked.

Allison looked him straight in the eye, finally full again. “I feel good.”

* * *

**15.**

“Sir, his majesty has expressed his willingness to waiver this particular tradition.” the royal guard followed the Argent patriarch into the royal chambers. 

Allison glanced up from where she was sitting on the bed, eyes tracing the stitching on the duvet as she tried to get her heartbeat under control. 

Her grandfather didn’t even look at the guard “Nonsense, I think his majesty has done away with enough traditions.” He sat down beside her on the bed, eyes hard as they turned on the guard “You can wait outside, and fetch his majesty when she’s ready for him.”

The guard’s mouth tightened but he nodded, and Allison caught the yes sir whispered under his breath as he left.

“Well,” Gerard turned to her expectant “I hope your father has kept you informed of tradition.” 

Allison swallowed and nodded, standing. Her hair was still done up in curls, held back by jewel encrusted clips that had been handed down through the women of the royal family. With hands that only shook slightly she reached up to undo, letting her hair tumble down around her shoulders. They shook less as she undid the silk belt holding together her robe. The ladies that would be handmaidens had changed her out of the heavy and binding wedding dress into this.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, pulling it off and letting at pool at her feet. She stood in front of her grandfather stark naked, staring at the wall above his shoulder. His eyes moved over her body assessing, taking her in as if she was a horse at the market.

“Good, I’m sure he’ll appreciate your looks. Now come on and sat down beside me, no need to draw this out.” He patted the spot next to him and Allison sat, eyes straying to the door. She could see the guard through a crack in the door, his back was to her but she knew he heard everything. She didn’t jump when her grandfather’s hand moved up her legs and biting her lip she spread them.

He hummed his approval, not hesitating as he dragged the pad of his finger over the lips of her sex. “Traditions are very important Allison,” his fingers were light and teasing as he brushed them over her “it’s my duty as the head of this family to uphold them.” He stroked her gently making her tremble. “You know I would have done this for Kate had they not had her killed for betraying the crown.” Allison didn’t hear the accusation in his tone that would have been there if they weren’t within earshot of the royal guard. The one that said it would have been better for all if she had killed the heir along with the king. 

The heir turned king that Allison had married earlier that day. An Argent had been promised to the the Hale heir since her birth, a way to bring peace between the two nations. That hadn’t changed with her aunt’s betrayal. 

He pushed at her harder, his pace increasing and Allison tasted blood in her mouth from where she had bite into her lip. She could feel herself growing wet around his fingers. So could he, because his voice sounded pleased “You’re doing beautifully dear, your father thought he could talk me out of doing my duty. Tried to argue that the old traditions were no longer needed.” He told her scornfully and she shook around him, eyes closing and unable to keep her lips from opening as she breathed. 

She felt sick.

“It’s my duty to prepare you for your husband; I care for you very much.” He confessed to her like what he was doing was a favor. “I would hate to see that monster tear you apart.” 

Allison’s hands dug into the duvet, and she clenched her teeth together to keep a cry from breaking forth as she fell apart around him, body shaking.

His fingers stroked her one last time, as if fond, before he removed his hand. “Good girl, you’re ready for him now.” She could hear the smile in his voice and the bed shifted under his weight as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He rose and her eyes opened, a tear working its way down his cheek as he left without a backwards look. He opened the door wider and she watched him whispered to the guard, accepting a towel to wipe his hand off.

Allison focused on breathing. 

* * *

**16.**

It should be humiliating, but it's mostly just hot. Scott - _Scott McGall_ , looser extraordinaire from high school - _that_ Scott's _mom_ is fucking Jackson's ass. 

All because Jackson had gotten just a little too drunk, which had made him try to hook up with a guy in a bar, which had led to amazing groping - right up until Jackson remembered that he Wasn't Gay, an observation he shared with the guy, who punched him in the stomach and left him there to puke. None of which was a first time occurrence. The problem was that in his hungover state Jackson had mostly forgotten about all that, and when his pee had come out a little too orange for his liking he had freaked the fuck out. With his parents in earshot. And, mortified, Jackson hadn't been able to reassure them that he probably did _not_ have prostate cancer. So, here he was, his father yelling at the staff and a very unimpressed nurse looking at them with thinning patience. 

“Look, I don't care. This is my son, and his private clinic is closed today which is the only reason we're here, and I want him examined. Right. Now.”

The nurse opens her mouth, likely to argue for the fifth time that the ER was swamped enough, then she stops. A slow, sweet, utterly evil smile spreads across her face. She picks Jackson's file. “You know what? Fine. I'll even do it myself. Jackson? Come with me.”

Jackson shivers but follows her into a secluded room, breathing a sigh of relief at being away from his overbearing guardians. While she closes the door behind them, Jackson blurts: “I really just got drunk. But I didn't want to tell them. Because... because.”

“Oh, I know,” the nurse says, putting on gloves and opening drawers. 

“Ah. Okay. Good. Then just like write, whatever, “perfect stud health” in the sheet, and I'll be fine.”

“Yeah, no.” The nurse turns to him with a perfectly professional face. “Hello, my name is Melissa McCall. I'm here to give you a rectal examination to ascertain you don't have prostate cancer.“ 

She's holding up a tube of lubricant as she says the last part, and a glint in her eyes tell Jackson that she's not only utterly serious, but also that she plans on enjoying this.

“Fuck,” Jackson says.

A few minutes later find Jackson bent face first into crisp white examination table paper, naked from the waist down, with fingers pressing slowly into him.

The nurse is grinning around a few bad jokes, and he knows that despite everything she's trying to make him relax, but it only reminds him that she's _Scott's mom_. Jackson's face is burning, so he hides it in his arms. It makes his whole body shift for balance, and apparently distracts him just enough to relax some part of him, because the fingers slide the rest of the way in smoothly. 

Jackson locks up on them, tries to push the intrusion out, but it only makes him clench around the widest part of her fingers. He desperately wants not to think about any of this, which of course makes him live every second in vivid details. 

He can _feel_ her, deep inside, undeniable and intimate. It's not the ache he expected, it's a indescribable fullness that make him twitch. Mss McCall is talking to him, explaining what she's doing in a calm, expert voice, yet Jackson can hear the slight smirk catching on the end of her sentences. Jackson wonders if it's the voice she uses with her son when punishing him. And oh, that's a thought. This is totally the first and last part he'll tell people if this ever, ever, gets known: I had sex with a nurse, and someone's mom. She's even pretty.

Ms McCall uses that moment to press down on his prostate, and Jackson chokes through the rush of pleasure, blinking rapidly. Seemingly satisfied, she _punches_ her hand into that spot again, and Jackson can only hold on for the ride. His mouth's watering, his thighs are trembling, he's clenching down on each pass. He's hard as a fucking rock. 

Just as he thinks he might come soon, she stops, and nudges him to turn around. Her smile is wicked as she taps a long thin metal rod over the leaking head of his dick. 

“This,” she says, “is an urethral sound.” 

Jackson whimpers.

* * *

**17.**

They climb into the sewers. The stink has Jackson retching within moments, not-quite-liquid flowing around his ankles.

They don't talk about this shit (pun etc.) Not whenever Derek appears in the showers, after school, when everyone is around. Not when it's just them either. Derek followed him down here a while ago, caught him with his trousers around his ankles, his fist on his cock with Beacon Hills' wastewater sloshing around him mid-thigh high, and now they climb down together.

Jackson jumps the last few feet from the ladder, splashing up dirty water a he lands. It soaks into his trousers, some getting on his shirt, more landing on his crotch, but the shit only comes up to his ankles here, not too deep. Derek remains crouched above the stream, shards of sunlight glancing just past his head and burning into Jackson where he stands.

"Go on," Derek says.

Jackson looks up to him once then stares down the tunnel leading towards nothing as he unbuttons his shirt and drops it in the mess at his feet, pushes his trousers and underwear down until both are pooled around his ankles.

He knows how this goes. And as he first drop to his knees, then slowly lays back, the sun half-blinds him as it haloes around Derek. The water rolls up his thighs, across his crotch to his stomach and up his chest, just barely leaving his face waste-free. Sometimes Derek makes him submerge completely.

"Look at me," Derek says today though, and Jackson tries, against the sun and the stink. "Is that how dirty you are?" he asks. "Go on."

Jackson nods, spilling some of the shit water over his lips, making Derek chuckle, but he grabs for his cock and slowly wanks himself. He rubs from base to tip, getting his fist just above the surface before plunging back down until his knuckles press into his balls only to force his hand up again.

He's watching Derek watching him throughout, listens when Derek tells him that he's full of shit, that this is all he gets. He's watching Derek watching him stroke his cock, using everyone else's wastes for lube.

"I don't think you could get much lower," Derek says when Jackson is getting harder and getting off on this. 

He's right, but Jackson doesn't close his eyes, doesn't start humming some incessant song from the radio over Derek's words like he would have before. Songs don't drown out truths. 

They'd have never given him away if he was worth more than shit, even then. He's hardly worth more now.

Derek leaves him after he comes. Just climbs out and douses the sewers in darkness until there's only Jackson's hand on his cock, the sound of the water and the darkness around him. Until there's nothing but shit (no pun, not now).

They win the next game and the one after. There are celebrations, and he's on top of the fucking world, but he sees Derek in the stands. And they both know what he is.

* * *

**18.**

Stiles flips on the light in the bathroom and stares at his face in the mirror, takes in the days-old scruff and the dark circles under his eyes. His eyes graze over the dark bruise high on his cheek and the bandage that covers the still healing cut on his forehead. He leans heavily against the sink, trying to remember why he came in here.

A week ago, Stiles had the misfortune of falling victim to an energy monster, and he still hasn’t fully recovered. Deaton’s theory is that’s because the monster didn’t just eat his energy, it took part of his life force -- his “spark”. As it is, he’s so tired he can barely see straight half the time, and his memories so shot to hell, he’s become a menace to himself and everyone around him. 

The pack’s trying to help, keeping him home so he can recover his strength. Stiles doesn’t know whether to be resentful that they’re making his decisions for him (again) or so fucking grateful that they care that much. 

He stares at himself and tries to remember why he’s here, the stubble on his face a distant and annoying itch. He’s never really been one for facial hair, and it kind of bugs him. 

His hands shake as he reaches for the can of shaving cream and his razor, and then he nearly drops the can because it’s just so _heavy_ , even though it’s only about half full. He stares tiredly at his reflection, then blinks when a large hand enters his field of vision and takes the can away. 

“What are you doing, Stiles?” Derek’s gruff voice doesn’t really surprise him. More often than not, it’s the Alpha on Stiles-watch. Stiles isn’t really sure how to feel about that. 

“I don’t really know,” he answers weakly. “I can’t remember what I came in here for, and then my face itched so...”

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes, setting the can down on the sink. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Nope,” Stiles replies, swaying away from Derek and reaching for the can. 

“Stiles.” Derek sighs in exasperation and takes it back again. 

Stiles plants his hands on the sink and turns to glare at him. “Would you _please_ ,” he snarls, “quit coddling me? I can shave my damned face if I want to!”

Derek holds his hands out and takes a step back. Stiles nods and sprays cream into his hand, feeling it shake as he pats his face. Once he’s happy with his foam, he picks up the razor and growls as it stops inches from his skin.

“Damn it, Derek!”

“You’re going to cut yourself, idiot,” Derek says, taking the razor away from him. “Just...Here. Let me.”

The next thing Stiles feels is a wall of solid heat at his back, and a gentle hand tilting his head up. Derek meets his gaze in the mirror and sets the razor to skin, drawing it slowly up from just above Stiles’ adam’s apple to the tip of his chin, flicking the foam into the sink. He keeps his strokes gentle and methodical, working his way around Stiles’ neck and then over to his cheeks.

Stiles’ breath catches at the feel of warm lips at the back of his neck, and he tilts his head to give Derek better access. The razor drags slowly along his jaw, and Stiles shudders when a warm finger follows it. His eyes slide closed as Derek trails kisses in the razor’s wake, and he can feel his body responding.

He leans more heavily into Derek and his hips twitch just enough to catch the other man’s attention. A sharp, indrawn breath and the razor’s in the sink. Derek’s hands slide to the waistband of Stiles’ pajamas and just hover there, waiting. Stiles makes an impatient noise, and Derek’s hand dives down, wrapping firmly around Stiles’ straining erection.

It only takes a handful of strokes, and Stiles is coming all over Derek’s hand. He sags back into Derek’s warmth as the Alpha kisses him before cleaning his hand and the foam from Stiles’ face. There’s only a token protest when Derek picks Stiles up and carries him to bed. 

Later there will be words about Derek treating Stiles like an invalid -- never mind that, in this moment, he pretty much _is_ one. For now, Stiles sinks into the warmth around him and drifts to sleep.

* * *


	6. Group B (no warnings)

**19.**

Peter juggles his briefcase and take-out containers while trying to unlock the door to their apartment. His meeting ended early so he caught an earlier flight. He finally manages to open the door and lets himself inside. 

Stiles pokes his head out from the kitchen, “You’re early.”

A whiff of guilt floods his senses and Stiles is biting his lip like he’s been bad. Peter tilts Stiles’ chin so he cannot look away. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” asks Peter. 

“Um, no. Maybe. I’m sorry, Daddy,” replies Stiles.

Peter changes his tone appropriately, “Naughty little boys get punished, remember. I will take it into consideration if you tell me the truth right away.”

Stiles picks at the hem of his hoodie and mumbles, “Igotallhairydownthere.”

Peter frowns, “Little boys are smooth everywhere. You know that, baby.”

“It’s so hard to see when I try to do it and I like it better when Daddy does it,” whines Stiles. 

“What a troublesome child you are,” remarks Peter as he heads towards the bathroom. “Come and we’ll take care of it.”

Once inside the bathroom, Stiles eagerly takes off his pants and underwear, and props himself on the counter beside the sink. He spreads his feet as wide as they’ll go so his cock and balls are on full display. 

Peter starts with a warm towel to relax the hairs that is followed by a light layer of shaving cream. He picks up the razor when Stiles interrupts, “Daddy! That’s the wrong one!”

“It’s a razor, is it not?” replies Peter. 

“Blue is for the face. Orange is for down there, silly Daddy.”

Peter digs through the drawer to unveil the orange razor, “Now don’t interrupt me or I might shave off something extra.”

Stiles makes a zipper motion across his lips. Peter starts with the hairs on the pubic bone and works his way down. Stiles lets out a whimper when Peter manipulates Stiles’ balls to get at the fine hairs there. “Daddy,” Stiles whines. 

“Hush, child. Hold yourself open so I can get to that pretty little hole.” 

Peter spreads the shaving cream in a circular motion while Stiles holds his cheeks apart. Peter slips a finger inside and thrusts a couple of times. Stiles moans at the sensation and tries to move his hips to sink deeper into the finger. Peter removes his finger and starts shaving around the rosy pucker.  
“Inside, Daddy, I’ve missed you so much,” whines Stiles. He attempts to move his hand to touch his hard and aching cock, but he’s stopped immediately. 

“Keep them spread,” Peter commands. 

“But I need to come! If it gets any harder, it’s going to fall off!” exclaims Stiles.

Peter raises an eyebrow and slips his finger back inside, “We can’t have that, can we?”

Stiles’ reply bleeds into a loud moan when the finger slips out and returns with two fingers. Peter digs around the second drawer and removes a black toy. Stiles whines at the loss of fingers inside of him, but it’s quickly replaced by the cold slippery feel of the toy. It settles inside of Stiles pressing against his prostate while the other end presses on his perineum. Peter switches it on and the toy buzzes to life. It doesn’t take long before Stiles is screaming his orgasm and his cock jets out come all over his belly. 

Peter bends down to lick at the streaks of come and presses his lips against Stiles giving him a taste of himself. “It’s not going to fall off now, is it?”

Stiles shakes his head as he tries to recover his breath.

“Good, now let’s see how many times my little boy can come before he starts coming dry.”

Stiles’ eyes are wide with a mixture of horror and lust. 

* * *

**20.**

Derek is asleep when Stiles gets home. Like, passed the fuck out, sleep-of-the-dead asleep. Derek never sleeps that soundly, but it's been a long fucking week.

An errant black sock dangles from Derek's left foot, but he is otherwise deliciously naked.

Stiles toes the door shut. He does _not_ do a silent dance-shimmy because he's excited Derek's left himself vulnerable and open.

He should probably lie down and go to sleep, but he hasn't had much opportunity for ogling as he and Derek are usually busy researching, fighting, or fucking. He is inordinately pleased by this opportunity to just _look_. Hell, he's also curious to see what he might be able to get away with.

Derek is fucking gorgeous like this. The moonlight casts delicate shadows across his back, making it look longer and leaner than usual. He has one knee conveniently bent, opening his ass cheeks slightly. It's mouthwatering.

With little hesitation, he kneels by the bed, unwilling to risk waking Derek by climbing on it. (Yes, sticking a finger in his butt is probably going to wake him but Stiles isn't exactly working with logic right now.)

Placing one tentative hand on Derek's buttcheek, he pulls it to the side a smidge. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and wet, and then runs one gently over Derek's asshole. He rubs it a bit, then wets his finger some more.

On the next pass, he adds pressure and his finger sinks in to the first knuckle. Derek grunts, but remains asleep. Stiles, on the other hand, can feel his heartbeat in his cock. He's rock hard and ready to go. He moves his finger, a tiny push-pull, but he's going to have to get Derek a lot wetter to get any more in his ass.

He leans forward and licks Derek's rim where it's stretched around his finger. He quickly gets a rhythm going (lick-push-pull-lick-push-wiggle) and before he realizes it, his whole index finger is buried in Derek's ass.

"Jesus, _fuck_ , that's hot," he murmurs to himself, pausing.

"If you stop now, I will end you," Derek grunts.

"Holy fuck! Why didn't you tell me you were awake?"

"Why would I? You were doing fine. Get back to it," Derek says with a roll of his hips.

Stiles is _fine_ with this, so he wets his fingers again and goes in with two this time, breaching Derek a little quicker.

Derek arches his back, pushing his ass up into Stiles’ fingers, and moans into the pillows. Stiles pumps his fingers a few times before he needs more saliva. Derek reaches back with both hands and pulls his ass cheeks apart. It's obviously an invitation for Stiles to dive in again. He accepts.

Licking around Derek's rim, Stiles wets his fingers, and spreads them apart ever so slightly to make room for his tongue. The groan that follows sounds like it's ripped from Derek's chest.

Fuck, he's never seen Derek like this: rutting up into his hand, down onto the bed, moaning incoherently. There's no way Stiles can ignore himself anymore. He licks his palm and takes his own cock in hand, jacking himself to the same rhythm he's using on Derek.

He curls his fingers, moving them in tiny thrusts aimed for Derek's prostate. Derek nearly _howls_ when he hits it, hands falling to the bed for leverage to push his ass up.

"C'mon," he whispers, encouraging Derek to let go. He plants a hand on Derek's ass and climbs onto the bed, straddling Derek's thighs. Pushing him back down, he presses his fingers against Derek's prostate. Derek freezes and comes with a whine, trembling and twitching.

Stiles isn't about to waste the opportunity before him, and jacks his cock over Derek's clenching hole. He won't take long, not after watching Derek fall apart. He feels the orgasm building in the pit of his stomach as he imagines what it'll be like to get his dick in there. He presses the tip against Derek's asshole. Derek clenches, and that's enough to overwhelm Stiles' senses. He comes with a shout all over Derek's ass.

"Fuck," he cries, and collapses on top of Derek, dick nestled comfortably between Derek's cheeks.

It takes his heart a minute to calm down, another to get his breathing under control and roll off of Derek.

Who is asleep again.

"Stupid, gorgeous jerk," Stiles mutters and flops onto his back, utterly exhausted.

* * *

**21.**

Lydia prefers to deal with problems in one of two ways, ignore them because it's beneath her or fuck it into submission.

It's tragically easy to ignore Jackson. 

However, Jackson and _his issues_ aren't to be dealt with in the same way. 

"Get it together, babe," she says sharply. "I'm not done yet." 

The snarl that comes out of Jackson is weak but it still exists so she reaches around, breasts swaying to press against the lean stretch of his back. His nipples are still tender and hot to the touch from where she bit them until Jackson crumbled, rolling away from her and pushing is ass up—desperate and needy to be fucked. 

"Look at you shake for me, Jackson. Are you gonna cry?" 

She keeps her voice as neutral as possible, even though the smooth black dick between her legs is swaying and rocking against her clit with it's heft. It bobs, sliding over Jackson's thigh and this time, when she pinches and rolls the bud of his nipple, he whimpers beautifully. 

"There you are," Lydia whispers, smug. "Are you ready to good?" 

It takes one dry finger over the pink hint of his hole before he cracks. 

"Please, please, god, would you just fuck—" 

"Watch your mouth," but her harshness comes from the twist of her finger as she seats it inside him. It's dry but he's already pushing back, making greedy noises with his mouth and this is exactly what they both need. 

She adds lube with her second finger, watching Jackson thrash his hot, wet face against the pillow as he rides her hand. Lydia waits him out, smooth and even strokes with her fingers and only the blunt tip of her cock touching him beyond that. She waits until her name stops falling sloppily from his swollen lips and something a little less nice trickles out. 

Sooner still, the nastiness passes, stripped away with the twist of her wrist and three fingers pressing against his prostate. Something else starts tumbling out, quiet but easy and Lydia sighs, using her other hand to pressed the hilt of her cock against her clit. 

"You have to speak up, Jackson," she says, tone no longer stern but firm and encouraging. "Come on, babe. Let me hear you." 

"God—" Jackson gasps and then comes that soft, wet hiccup. 

"There you go." 

The broken sobs get a little more seamless before, "Please, dad," he pleads, "please, daddy, I need you to— _dad_." 

He's cracked open, a little bit more human and she couldn't love him more. So she gives him exactly what he's asking for—the spread of her fingers goes from steady to punishing enough to hurt her wrist. 

"You look so good," she murmurs, dipping down to speak against the flush of his skin. "You want to be fucked so badly—want daddy's cock inside you, want me to fuck you until I fill you with come and lick you out, let you ride my face until I fuck you again. Listen to yourself. Sobbing for me and I want you, I want to fuck you but you have to—"

"Daddy!" he shouts it this time, almost defiant. 

"Come on, baby girl, you know what I need to hear," Lydia says back, biting at the curve of his ass, twisting her hand until she can trace the rim of his fucked out hole with her pinky nail. "Let me help you. You're so pretty, so ready for me. Let me fuck you, baby."

"Dad—daddy," Jackson cries out, Then, almost silently, "thank you." 

"Louder." 

"Thank you."

She presses forward, mouth open and sucking until another sob wrenches out. "Good girl, Jackson." 

"God—daddy, thank you, daddy thank you—" It runs together then, wrecked voice of sincere gratitude as she fucks up against his prostate and let's him come in a shuttery mess beneath her. 

It's easy to fuck into him after. She watches the way his body takes the give of her cock and how he begs, thanking her as she thrusts into him and comes grinding into his split wide rim. 

Later, she'll make him suck her dick until his face turns red and he chokes with how eager he is for her. She'll come again, fucking his mouth, and let him fall asleep—cock hard again—with his face tucked up against her chest as she whispers what a good girl he always is for her. 

Some problems have to be handled with a delicate hand. Luckily, she's got the perfect touch.

* * *

**22.**

It hadn't been Scott's intention to get into a fight after practice, but he had, and rather than rip off the head of the guy from the other team that had been taunting him, he headed to the woods, and wolfed out, running and letting out all his pent up frustration, Derek helping a little bit by being a sparring partner, but that had got old quickly, and Derek told him to head home. And so he did - that was until he was a few blocks away from Allison's house, and he caught her scent. He was stopped in his tracks, inhaling in the aroma of her body, it took him back to before. Her smell, her taste. But now she wasn't his any more, and remembering that drove him to lose control of himself, running to her house and jumping through the open window. The animal inside him wanted raw, aggressive, sex. And who better than Allison? Though she looked like an angel while sleeping, he knew better. He knew she could handle herself. 

He made quick work removing his pants and boxers, his cock already sprung to attention at the idea of what he was planning on doing. Next, he pulled the sheets from her, and although she stirred, whimpering slightly, she didn't wake up. Slowly his hands slid to her sides to pull up her nightdress. Knowing he needed to be careful to not wake her, he first slipped a finger between her folds, finding her dry, but he told himself it was worth the risk. Putting all his weight onto his hands and knees as he straddled her body, he nudged his cock into her opening, before thrusting forward, meeting with a little resistance, but not too much. Despite being asleep, Allison's body seemed to work autonomously, her hips tilting upwards to meet each thrust, and soon her own excitement was lubricating the walls. Moaning slightly, her lips parted as she let out his name in a gasp, and Scott couldn't even imagine what was happening in her dreams. She wet her bottom lip, and her hand flexed on her bed, gripping and releasing the sheets with every movement. Scott gritted his teeth, trying to stop himself from crying out the closer he got. It was a huge turn on - the idea that Allison had ended it, that she'd been a bitch to so many people lately, and now? It was Scott's turn to get things his way. He wanted her, he loved her, he knew that she loved him, so why shouldn't they want this? They would always belong to each other.

Just that thought alone, that he was having something that was so unobtainable right now, his head dipped into the sheets, cumming deep inside her. His arms gave up their effort, and shakily he lowered his body to the bed. It was a few moments before he pulled out, and he moved up to her head, holding his cock against her lips, already wanting more, and wanting to see just how far he could push things. A tongue tentatively licked at the head, before Scott pushed forward, the head slipping into her mouth. Unconscious, he soon found she was unable to suck, so instead, he fucked her mouth gently, getting harder once again. He considered pulling out and fucking her again, but seeing as she hadn't woke up yet, he kept his cock in her mouth, thrusting it rapidly. Her teeth brushed against his cock every time he pulled out, so it wasn't long before he was pulling out altogether, and with a cry, he fired his load over her eyelids, lips, and face, stream after stream of cum coating her. Afterwards, he put his cock back in his pants, and looked her over once again, covering her body up. She was still writhing, obviously dreaming about him, but now her face didn't look quite as angelic, her face thick with the white substance. Nevertheless, Scott dipped his head once more to kiss the top of her head, before leaving through the window again, not wanting to be caught by Allison, or even worse, her father.

A few seconds of silence, and once she was sure he wasn't coming back, a smile slipped tiredly onto Allison's face, and her tongue darted out to lick the cum from her lips.

* * *

**23.**

Lydia’s hand shakes as she reaches out and runs her fingers down Jackson’s back. He’s sound asleep on his belly; dead to the world from too many days of fighting for their lives. The near-death experiences involved in the supernatural world are not something Lydia enjoys, but she can’t deny she loves the aftermath. There’s not a single drop of energy left in Jackson’s body. Most importantly, not even an ounce of fight remains in his normally ironclad will. She cherishes these moments like the rare treasure they are. 

Nothing is rushed and she can take as much time as she wants exploring his body. Standing at the end of the bed she moves her hands to his calves, slowly massaging up his legs. When she reaches his ass cheeks she kneads them a few times before pulling them apart. After taking a deep breath she exhales over his exposed hole, relishing the way he moans and shifts in his sleep. He’s entirely wanton and not conscious enough to be prideful about it.

Unable to wait any longer Lydia crawls on the bed, strap-on cock bouncing between her legs. The leather straps rub against her hips making her restless. She strokes her cock a few times as she grabs the strategically placed lube from the nightstand. 

It’s been too long since she’s done this and her heart races with nervousness and anticipation as she finally presses two wet fingers to his hole. Eye fluttering closed, she hums in satisfaction as he lets her in; body sucking her fingers in as if it was made for this.

“You are so perfect and beautiful.” She bends down and whispers into the small of his back.

With agile fingers she works him open slowly. Jackson barely moves through it all. Only occasionally making soft mewls in his sleep and unconsciously pushing back onto her fingers like a needy pup. It’s a heady feeling; having such a headstrong and powerful creature subdued by the tips of her fingers.

When he’s ready she adds a third finger. Pushing in so slowly it’s nearly unbearable. There’s a throbbing between her legs that’s making it difficult to stay in control. It will be better if she waits though. With determined patience she expands her fingers out, pushing against the tight ring of muscles for a few seconds before relaxing again. Over and over she stretches him until wetness runs down her thighs and she whimpers in overwhelming need. 

 

It’s tempting to add a fourth finger, but she knows it would be risking waking him, so she pulls out instead.

Her entire body quivers as she slicks her cock. The weight of it feels heavy in her hand and the reality of what she’s about to do crashes over her like a violent wave. Swinging one leg over Jackson’s body she straddles his thighs and positions herself at his entrance. 

The sight of her cock sinking into his body is something she will never get used to. It rattles her to the bones. So overwhelming and incredible it’s a wonder she doesn’t come from that alone. He opens so perfectly for her, pulling her into his body until she’s fully seated. The world falls apart around her and she trembles with the picture he makes. 

Jackson moans in his sleeps and ruts into the bed. She knows he’s hard by now, seeking release even in his dreams. 

Gripping his hips to stabilize herself, she starts to slowly grind down into him. She fucks him slowly and thoroughly. Giving him what he needs but is never able to ask for. His body moves with her. Pushing back onto her cock, silently begging for more.

“So, so perfect.” She murmurs.

He tenses beneath her and then goes slack, sighing into his arm. There’s no doubt he’s going to be pissed about the sticky mess in the morning, but for now he’s content.

Careful not to hurt him she pulls out and flops down beside him on the bed. With one hand she pumps her cock and the other she snakes between her wet folds. There’s no time for patience, working herself furiously and not stopping until she shakes apart. Her release coats her fingers and she bites her lip to keep from screaming. For a while she lets herself float in bliss and contentment before finally drifting off into a sated sleep.

* * *

**24.**

Allison waited until her father had finished his third glass of whiskey before offering to get him a refill; a gesture of good will in a sea of silences and arguments over nothing. He nodded and handed her the tumbler, not taking his eyes off the fire. He was still unable to quite look her in the eye, but she didn't blame him. She filled the glass slowly, using the moment to slip the little vial out of her pocket and positioning it above the glass.

This was it. She could still stop, bury the fantasy in the very back of her mind, or work harder to repair what they had before, instead of – this. Allison looked back at her father, sprawled out on the couch, his arm over his eyes, illuminated by the firelight. Even now, looking more tired and older than she’d ever seen him, strung out on too little sleep, and too much caffeine and alcohol, he was the most stunning man she’d ever seen. She emptied the vial into the glass.

"Here you go." Allison handed him the glass and sat on the opposite side of the couch, legs curled up, watching him. He nodded and downed the glass in one big gulp. Allison had to look away.

She turned back, long minutes later, to find her dad watching her, his face illuminated by the flames, firelight dancing across his features. She had to wrap her arms tightly around her knees to stop from reaching out and touching right then. _Soon_. Her dad muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What, dad?"

"I’m sorry, Alli. So sorry." He reached out a hand and placed it on top of her knee, a feeble attempt at comfort, more for himself than for her, but she put her hand over his and twined their fingers together.

"Shh, dad. It's ok." Allison’s heart raced as she crawled across the couch and wrapped his arm around her, pressing close to his side. The heat radiating of her dad’s body made her dizzy, clamming up her hands as they itched to touch.

Allison waited until her dad’s breath evened out and his grip slackened before she moved again.

"Dad?" she tried.

No response.

_Finally._

Allison's whole body shook as she raised her hand to her father’s peaceful face. She traced each worry line and fresh wrinkle across his skin, then kissed his temples, his cheeks, his lips. She could no longer stop herself from pressing against him more firmly, straddling his lap.

She ran her hands across her dad's chest, once, before slowly undoing his shirt, mapping every inch of naked skin with her fingertips, committing it to memory, as her hips began stuttering, barely grinding down.

She could feel herself getting so wet, grinding in her dad’s lap with nothing but her loose shorts and his jeans separating them from exactly what Allison wanted. She lifted up on her knees and undid his belt, the buttons on his jeans, then maneuvered them and his boxers down, watching his half-hard cock slip out. Allison let her hand slip down his toned chest and skim along the hair until she wrapped her hand around him and began to pump. Fuck. He was thicker than Scott, and it made her mouth water.

But there was no time for that. She quickly stripped out of her clothes, and climbed back on top of her dad, loving the roughness of denim beneath her thighs, his chest hair against her breasts. She slid down around him easily, her pussy already dripping for him. It was perfect.

Allison kissed her father's slack, warm mouth, as she rubbed her body against his, rode him hard and fast. With every movement of her hips, her dad’s cock filling her up, her clit barely-grinding against his pelvis, she got closer and closer.

"Daddy," she finally gasped, the orgasm making her lose all control, shaking on top of her father, her pussy squeezing him tight.

She let herself rest before slipping down again, cleaning her juices off her dad's dick with her mouth, loving the taste of them together. She stayed naked as she pulled his pants back on, did his shirt back up, pushed him down on the couch, then covered him up with a blanket.

Allison picked up her clothes and leaned over her father once more, hoping the smell of sex dissipated by the time he awoke. She leaned down and brushed his hair back, kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, daddy."

* * *

**25.**

**Title:** Everything You Ever Wanted

You can’t even claim it’s an accident.

After all, _you_ put the camera in the bathroom, tucked above the mirror, when you _knew_ she would be coming over. You claim it’s because she’s dangerous. Her friendship with Allison is an unknown quantity; you cannot risk your daughter being involved with the wrong elements. But in your heart, you know that isn’t it.

You know that you intended this all along.

When you hear Allison call out to her, you are already in front of the monitor. You can see most of the bathroom with the wide angle lens, from the toilet at one end to the door at the other. The sink in between is close to the camera.

You can’t be sure exactly what you will see, but you can guess.

You can hope.

She comes into the bathroom with a folded pile of clothes that she sets on the edge of the sink. She locks the door behind her. She doesn’t trust you. She has _never_ trusted you, and you smile because she is brilliant, yet you have outsmarted her.

She leans in close to the mirror, lips pursed, the lipstick bitten away, leaving them red and full. She undoes the clip in her hair and combs her fingers through it, untangling the strawberry blond strands.

When she sets her hands at the hem of her shirt, you can’t help it. Your hand covers your crotch, heel pressing down against the hard ridge, pushing into it. She tugs her shirt off slowly and drops it on the floor, then deftly undoes the clasp between her breasts to set those free. Her eyes close as she runs her hands over her body, nipples taut from the cold; you stroke along your covered dick as you watch her.

She has freckles, small dots on her skin that you will never be allowed to touch; from this angle you can imagine connecting them with your tongue. You can imagine the way her young skin would taste, and when she makes a small noise as she pinches her own nipples, you can imagine that you have caused it.

She makes quick work of her skirt, shimmying out of it and tossing a scrap of pink silk undies after it. The patch of hair at her crotch is as red as that on her head. She is absolutely unashamed of her nudity, proud in the way she looks and not bothering to cover up.

Why should she? She is alone, after all. Private. Safe.

You undo the button of your jeans and push the zipper down. You pull your hard dick out, sliding your palm along it. She has no idea you are watching, and you love seeing her innocence. Defiling it without her knowledge.

She settles on the toilet, spreading her legs slightly, relaxing and looking up at the ceiling. The sound from the microphone isn’t perfect, but you can hear when the stream begins, splashing into the basin below. 

You stroke your dick harder in response. 

After she finishes, she leans back, one foot on the edge of the toilet, the other braced against the wall. Her slit is visible, pink and shining as her fingers disappear into it.

She fucks herself while your daughter lies innocent in her bed, waiting for her friend. She will go back to Allison smelling of musk and sex.

You could help her. You could walk in there and stand over her, feeding your dick down her throat. You could fuck her face while her fingers dive deep, while she pushes her hand _just like that_ into her gleaming slit and twists against the feel of it. Your hand moves faster, driven by the way her body writhes, by the fingers at her nipple that pinch and pull it away from her body, leaving rough red marks over pale skin.

She cries out when she comes; you spill in your hand, droplets splashing on the monitor. She lies there, panting, while you reach for tissues and clean up the mess.

When she stands, she washes her hands quickly before leaning on the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror as if it might stare back at her. She only dresses right before she leaves the room, and you can hear her calling brightly for Allison.

You tuck yourself away and turn off the monitor. After all, you have morning to look forward to, when she is yours again.

* * *

**26.**

Truth be told, there’s nothing Finstock loves more than coaching lacrosse.

“Come on, Greenberg, my grandma can cross-stitch faster than you move. Stilinski, my dog could run circles around you, and he’s only got three legs.”

Even Greenberg and Stilinski, despite the fact that they’re both seniors and still terrible.

After a few locker room incidents years ago, Finstock makes a point to ensure everyone’s safely gone at the end of the day. Usually he doesn’t find anyone, but today the sound of running water fills his ears. He’s about to start yelling when he’s stopped dead in his tracks by Greenberg. Naked, showering, and lazily jerking off.

Finstock opens his mouth to say...something, but the words catch in his throat.

He should leave, because Greenberg hasn’t noticed him yet. This isn’t just an invasion of privacy, it’s illegal. But then Greenberg moans, an obscene sound in the quiet of the locker rooms, and it goes straight to Finstock’s cock. A wave of pleasure and shame washes over him, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes won’t hurt, he tells himself. It’s harmless, as long as he leaves before Greenberg comes, doesn’t touch himself too. He presses back against the lockers, hiding in the partial shadows so his view is still good, but won’t be spotted.

But fuck, the noises Greenberg’s making, the way he strokes himself, is turning Finstock’s brain to mush, and without conscious thought, he finds he has one hand down the front of his jeans, rubbing himself through his underwear. It feels so fucking good, but he’s just trying to relieve some of the pressure, nothing more.

One of Greenberg’s hands trails to fondle his balls, rolling them between his fingers, before moving to press a finger inside himself. Finstock rubs against his crotch even harder, unable to stifle the soft moan that slips past his traitorous lips at the sight.

The air drains from Finstock’s lungs when Greenberg freezes, hand stilling on his cock as he turns, catches Finstock’s eyes for the first time. He stares, wide-eyed, then drops his gaze lower to Finstock’s open fly, proving himself more observant than Finstock ever gave him credit for.

_Fuck._

On a list of incredibly stupid things Finstock has done in his life, this might take the cake, because _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he’s watching one of his barely-legal students jerk off while he has a hand down his own pants.

He’s going to get fired, or worse, arrested. His family will disown him. His life is over.

“Coach?” Greenberg’s question cuts into his thoughts.

“I--” he starts, but for the first time ever, he’s at a loss for words. What can he even say?

For a brief, glorious moment, he considers running away. He can drive out to the airport, catch a flight to someplace warm, start a new life somewhere. Maybe Greenberg will think he imagined--

“Coach.” Finstock realizes for the first time that Greenberg’s turned off the shower, has moved toward him.

“I’m sorry. I should-- I should go.”

But Greenberg reaches out, catching his wrist. “Wait!”

Finstock freezes, blood running cold.

“I...” he continues, flushing from head to toe. “Can I see?” He makes a vague gesture with his chin.

For a second, Finstock’s sure he blacks out from shock. But then Greenberg starts moving his hand again, stroking himself with a firm grip, and Finstock feels his vision cloud, because this cannot be happening.

“Please, I want to see you too,” Greenberg begs, breathless, and Finstock realizes that this isn’t a fantasy, it’s _actually fucking happening_.

He only hesitates for a moment before pushing his jeans and underwear down enough to free his cock, thick and already leaking pre-come. He’s further encouraged by the soft “yes” that slips past Greenberg’s mouth, like he’s enjoying the view. Finally, Finstock gets a proper hand around himself and begins to stroke his cock in conjunction with Greenberg. Nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional enthusiastic moan fill the room as they watch each other jerk off.

Finstock is no teenager, and he knows he isn’t going to last long. But it isn’t until Greenberg flicks his wrist just so, coming with a loud cry and spilling over his hand and stomach, that Finstock feels his orgasm rip out of him with such intensity that he almost collapses.

“Get dressed, go home,” Finstock says eventually, sinking to the floor. When he finally moves again, Greenberg’s long gone.

* * *

**27.**   


Stiles has beautiful fingers. They're long, the bones wrought with hidden strength, and ridiculously expressive.

Although he would never admit it, Derek knows Stiles' fingers intimately: the press of his palm against Derek's bloody chest, the shapes he draws when he's shouting hysterically, the power in his fists when they connect with Derek's face.

As Derek stares through the slither of a gap in the curtains, he watches Stiles, draped naked on his bed, wrap a spit-wet hand around his cock and start to tug. His throat is exposed, thrown back and smooth to look at, and Derek can feel his fangs lengthen at the sheer thought of burying his teeth in Stiles' flesh.

Stiles' other hand, wet with lube, trails past his balls to finger at the edge of his hole. Derek bites down a whine at the same time as Stiles' choked moan, his heart drumming a frantic beat in Derek's ears.

"Fuck," Stiles breathes, and lets one of those wet, long fingers slide inside of him, and Derek can see, even with one eye through a hole between the curtains, the practised ease that Stiles takes it.

Derek's suspicions are confirmed when Stiles immediately adds a second finger, shoving in hard and fast, trying to bury himself as deep as possible. Noises fall out of his mouth, gradually getting louder, and his other hand tightens around his cock. "Yes," Stiles murmurs, and he sounds drugged, or drunk, or both, "fuck me, _yes_." He adds a third finger, gasping hoarsely at the burn, but maintaining a pace and mouthy commentary as he fucks himself on his hand.

Derek wants to break down the window, pin Stiles against the wall, and pound his arse until he can't walk for days and show him what a real fucking is.

"Fuck me," Stiles whines, and his fingers, those beautiful long fingers, press in one last time, hard and deep, and Stiles' eyes slam shut with a cry of, "fuck me, _fuck_ me, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," as he comes all over his hand, streams of white decorating his belly and thighs and arms.

Stiles slumps, breathing like he's running for his life. He starts to remove his fingers from his arse, wincing at the loss, then raises his come-drenched hand to his mouth. He starts to lick, one, two stripes up his fingers, before sucking them dry.

That's when he lifts his head, one finger still in his mouth, wrapped around red lips and moist with spit and come. Stiles looks right at the window, and it's as though he's staring straight at Derek, catching him red-handed.

With a lurching heart, Derek immediately jumps off the roof and flees in stealthy silence into the night. 

*

The next time they're together, Derek will meet Stiles' eyes. Even if he knows what Stiles' fingers are like buried in his arse; even if he's memorised the vision of Stiles coming all over himself; even if he's dreamt about _taking_ Stiles and making him his, fucking him with his fingers and then his cock while he sucks on Stiles' fingers - those lithe, clever, _dirty_ fingers that Derek wants on his skin now, always, _forever_.

But Stiles will always be an unattainable dream to Derek, a mistake he will never make. And so Derek will look at Stiles, this _ridiculous_ 16-year-old boy-not-yet-man, and Derek will growl, and snap, and roll his eyes, and it will be as everything should be.

* * *

**28.**

" _Jackson_ ," Lydia hisses, her eyes flying wide and her fingers digging dents into Jackson's arm. "You can't put your fingers _there_."

Jackson only smirks in response, flutters a kiss beneath the line of her jaw before he sucks a bruise against the skin there. "Relax," he murmurs, using that tone he does when he's feeling especially cocky, particularly smug. He shifts a little, one muscle-lined arm moving down from Lydia's hip to hold her mid-thigh. He lifts her leg up, presses it closer, his shoulders flexing sinewy and sinful as his other arm moves and--

" _Oh_ ," Lydia gasps, lips parting as the bones in her body seem to melt and she goes weightless, limp and pliant in his arms, beneath him. She spreads her legs a little bit more, she arches into his touch. The tightness in her face is gone, her chest heaving with the deep, near-orgasmic desperate breaths as Jackson continues, eyes closed and brows fervent. "Keep-- your finger-- there-- _there_ , oh god--"

***

Danny's in trouble, and fuck, on so many levels it's practically a Super Mario game.

He tucks himself in the corner of Jackson's closet (crack that joke and Danny will _end you_ , just throwing that out there) and tries to make himself as quiet as possible. He tries to distract himself, but Danny's never found it easy to ignore things, and Lydia-- fuck. Lydia's a loud fuck, okay?

He cringes when she moans again, overly loud and far too pornified in his opinion, and begins contemplating the many different ways Jackson can make it up to him because goddammit, this was _not_ how he'd expected to spend his afternoon of cheering his moping single best friend up, not at all.

" _Jackson_ \--"

"Fuck, god, yeah--"

Jackson's voice is thick with lust, tight with barely held restraint. It's the first time he's sounded like he isn't just trying to suavely maneuver his prick into Lydia's cunt, like a game he wants to win, and then he moans too, just a soft sound whispered into Lydia's ear and straight to Danny's cock, and Danny--

Danny's in trouble.

***

Lydia lays down, stretches like a cat, like a goddess, letting Jackson worship her with mouth and finger and tongue and cock. She arches her back to move close to his touch, pushes his head down, fingers curled in his hair, but Jackson shakes her off, lifts his head up, his own feral grin matching hers.

She mewls her discontent, but Jackson places his fingers in her lips.

"Suck," he tells her, and she raises an eyebrow-- she _must_ have had, this is Lydia after all, though he can't tell from the slatted door-- and does as he says. Her knee rises to brush against his inner thigh, against his cock, just half-mast and right _there_ , but he chuckles and pushes her knee back down. "Let me."

He pulls his fingers out with a pop, positions them between Lydia's legs. 

She murmurs his name-- it's just a whisper, a tendril of tenderness between them both-- slow and languid as the way he moves his arms, firming and flexing with every thrust and pull. He leans over her, his lips touching hers just the tiniest bit, a close-mouthed kiss of a start that coaxes her lips to part, her gaze to turn up to him. She cups his cheeks, pulls him close for a deeper kiss, murmurs something soft and muffled against Jackson's kiss, and this time it's Jackson's body that melts against hers, that folds into her arms.

"Me too," he says.

***

It's what makes Danny finally look away. 

* * *

**29.**

They're both lonely.

They both need something.

They find each other.

Since Peter and all he did to her, since werewolves came out of fairy tales and fucked with her life, she needs to be in control of herself, of her surroundings, of her lover. Jackson was willing to give her only so much and not what she truly needed. His leaving was almost a relief.

Since Victoria's death, his father's betrayal, the near loss of his daughter, he needs to surrender, to lose control willingly, to let someone else be in charge. There is a reason he has always been seen as the perfect Argent male. He knows when to bow to a female authority.

How it started isn't important. What they give each other, is.

Chris winces at the ache in his knees. He's not young, and years of running over rough terrain have damaged the cartilage, but he doesn't complain.

The three slick fingers in his ass driving him to distraction and making his cock ache with need offset any discomfort.

Lydia hums softly to herself as she preps him. He told her once he could wear a plug, be open for her always, but she likes how tight he still is in the beginning, the little grunts he makes as she forces one beautifully manicured finger after another into him.

Her other hand is between her legs, idly playing with her clit, keeping herself on edge.

When she decides they're both ready, she removes her fingers and watches his stretched hole try to rebound. Smiling, she reaches for her toy and straps it on with the ease of familiarity.

This isn't the first time they've done this by a long shot, but it is the first time in over a month that Chris has gone without any restraints. Usually he wants her to tie him to the iron headboard, not because he's afraid he'll fight her off, but because he's afraid he'll fight himself. Tonight his hands are braced on the mattress as he waits.

Lydia can see he's in a good place--the look on his face one of both desire and contentment. She did that to him. That makes her feel powerful.

Slicking up the dildo, its base nudging her clit just right, she leans forward and asks, "Ready?" because she doesn't want to hurt him. Pain isn't their goal here.

"Yes," he grunts, as she requires a verbal response, and his body quivers with a need that goes much deeper than sexual desire.

Slowly she pushes the head of the dildo into him, watching as his rim spreads around it, always amazed that he can take it. At first, she offered a smaller, slimmer toy, but he needed something much bigger.

He needs to feel it, to feel taken.

As she bottoms out, Lydia rubs her clit against the nubby base and moans softly. Her hands take Chris' hips, her blunt nails biting in, and she presses forward harder, then pulls back and fucks in again.

Breath driven from him, cock leaking onto the bedding, Chris falls to his elbows which lifts his ass a bit higher. The angle change rubs the fake cock against his prostate, makes his balls tighten, and then her hand is wrapping tightly around the base of his dick.

"Not yet," she breathes and fucks him again and again.

He doesn't beg--he never begs. If he comes, it's her decision and he gratefully gives her that power.

As she strokes into him, Lydia strokes his shaft. Fucking him harder, her pelvis slaps his ass, and she loves that sound. As she feels her orgasm approaching, her thighs begin to shake and sweat beads across her breasts and stomach, but she wants to see him fall apart first. Her grips loosens, her fingers tease across the slit of his cock and she moans, "Come."

In hard shudders, Chris does, spilling over his stomach. Panting harshly into a pillow, he lets his body relax, his mind go blank, and it's all so good.

With a stutter of her hips, Lydia comes as well, with hard shoves of the dildo against his overly sensitive prostate. He whimpers and she slumps over him for a moment, before pulling out and kneeling beside him.

Slowly Chris lowers to his belly, into the mess that dripped onto the bed, and he feels safe.

Lydia's hand strokes over his back, her lips brush his shoulder, and she feels strong.

* * *

**30.**

He could see two pairs of bare feet sticking out of the backseat of the jeep, rubbing together, one set of toes curling while the other flexed. The engine was still cooling, the low ticking in contrast to the sound of Stiles sobbing his release. Derek grunted and swore when he clearly followed after. Scott was glad he couldn't see more of them; happy he'd been in the backseat, squished between Allison and Erica when they'd been hit with whatever this was, or else that would've been him fucking his best friend.

"Hurry up, Scott," Allison moaned from the ground. The girls were both already naked, lying in the grass on the side of the road, Erica propping Allison up from behind. He'd looked away, at first, when the realization was filtering into his muzzy brain that this was what they had to do. It was Erica, someone he really didn't care about, and his ex-girlfriend. First time they'd spoken in months, and now…

Erica moved two fingers inside of Allison. They squelched, she was so wet. All he could smell was the two of them, the dampness glistening on Erica's thighs from when Allison knelt between them. The way her jaw moved – it was like she was eating fruit. Something delicate and sweet, like ripe berries. When Erica moaned, her hips stuttering up, Stiles and Derek commandeered the backseat.

"Rear in gear, McCall," Erica demanded, looking up at him and licking her lips. He shrugged out of his pants and underwear and knelt before them.

"Allison—"

"Just fucking get in there!" Erica drew her fingers out with a slurping sound. Allison yanked at his arm, and he fell into her. She turned her head away, her mouth seeking Erica's breast, and sucked on the nipple. Her cheeks hollowed, like they used to when she'd blow him, and he braced himself with one arm so we could caress her face. Erica gasped.

Over at the jeep, Scott could see Derek's naked back, Stiles' toes curled around the edge of the seat as Derek sucked his dick. Stiles was mumbling, the words illegible in his exhaustion. Everyone was waiting on Scott.

He thrust in harder, making Allison's mouth drop open with a moan, Erica's breast sliding out with a _pop_. The nipple was slick with spit, right at level with his mouth. He kissed it almost delicately before sucking it in. Allison came with a surprised grunt, clenching around him, and he followed after into blissful oblivion.

***

He thought that was the end of it, but the next day, his skin itched all through school. Stiles was pale and quiet. Scott wanted to ask him if he was okay, if his skin was on fire, but he wound up fucking Allison in a supply closet by the gym, not even stopping when the door was yanked open behind them.

It was Erica, and the second he came, she pushed him away. Her hands pulled Allison wider apart as she shoved her face right into Allison's crotch, frantically licking away every trace of him, moaning as if she loved the taste of them together. Scott stared at her, the way her breasts heaved and her thighs rubbed together, until Erica looked up at him, her face a mess of smeared makeup, spunk and juice.

"What?" she croaked.

The Camaro was parked outside the school when Scott stumbled out. The car rocked gently back and forth, an affirmative answer to his unspoken question.

***

He tried to go to sleep that night, and managed to doze off around two in the morning. He dreamed about wet heat and woke up to Erica's lips around his cock. Pre-come was already dribbling out. He blinked, the shape of Allison coming into focus behind Erica, stretching her ass cheeks apart, her fingers dripping with lube.

"Come on, Scott," Allison whispered. "We need this."

Erica pulled her mouth away from his dick and licked her lips. "Mount up, cowboy," she said sardonically, wiggling her hips.

He pushed into her from behind, slowly as she panted and swore, and then Allison slithered in between their legs. He imagined he could feel her tongue touching him, separated only by the thin walls inside Erica's body.

"More," Erica chanted. He gripped her hips and pressed down. Allison's mouth trembled with the force of it.

And maybe they would never break the spell, but he couldn't worry about that right now. All he could do was fuck.

* * *

**31.**

**Break out the Folgers**

Stiles crashes into the locker beside Scott’s, bursting with news. “I just touched _Laura Hale’s_ boob.”

“Yeah, right. You’d be dead.”

“Okay, it was an accident. But it still happened.”

\---

When it happens again, Laura’s not so forgiving. He was rushing around a corner, late for English and scrambling to stuff his notebook in his bookbag. Laura was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Oh shit.”

Her eyes narrow and his hand is most definitely on her boob.

He snatches it back, scrambling away from her. “I swear it was an accident this time.”

“ _This_ time?”

“Both times!” Stiles winces at the squeak in his voice. That hasn’t happened to him for at least a year. “Please don’t get your brother to kill me.”

Laura may be average height for a high school senior girl but her glare could make a grown man cower. And Stiles, a lowly sophomore, shrinks down the wall as she leans in. “What makes you think I’d need Derek for that?”

“I-- what? No. Girl power and all that.” God, it sucks that his dick reacts to death threats like it’s porn dialogue. “I’m sure you could. All by yourself.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Laura says. Stiles just nods, star struck that she’s even talking to him. “I think doing it _with_ my brother would be even more fun.”

The sound Stiles makes is strikingly similar to a whimper. If Laura catches the double entendre she just made, it doesn’t show. Which is good because the heat in Stiles’ face means he can’t even deny where his mind just went.

Laura grins and it’s all teeth. “I like you, Stiles.”

As she walks away Stiles shouts, “You know my name?”

\---

Laura knows more than his name. She’s waiting outside his house the next morning, offering to drive him to school.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says as he’s climbing into the backseat of the Camaro, a little weak-kneed. “Nice jacket. Very bad boy.”

Derek scowls at him until Laura’s rubs the back of her hand along Derek’s cheek. He calms visibly and Stiles shifts awkwardly in the back seat, trying not to stare at the siblings’ entwined hands.

 

\---

“The way those Hales look at you, dude...”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Scott shrugs, blushing. “It’s like they’re going to eat you.”

Stiles scratches the back of his neck, trying to hide his smile. He’s suddenly hot all over. It’s impossible not to notice what’s been happening the last few weeks: Laura rubbing her nose into Stiles’ jaw when she drops him off after school; Derek slamming Jackson up against the wall for calling Stiles a loser.

The whole school knows Stiles is now Hale property.

\---

Laura’s sprawled out on the bed that takes up most of the apartment she shares with her brother. Derek hovers in the corner, more fidgety than usual.

There’s no second bedroom; Stiles sits with his hand hiding his crotch.

“He’s not ready.” Derek’s voice breaks the quiet like a slap, unexpected and impossible to ignore.

“Stiles?” Laura’s legs spread. Stiles can see her pink panties up her skirt. “You ready?”

Stiles looks between the two most frightening, most beautiful people he’s ever met. Let’s be real; he can’t get his clothes off fast enough.

\---

“I can’t--” Stiles gasps. Laura’s so fucking wet. Her legs are wrapped around him, urging him faster. He’s not going to last. “Shit.”

“Come inside me.”

He slams in, his body wrecked, trembling. He can’t believe they convinced him to forgo the condom, but as he empties himself, making Laura sloppy-full with his jizz, he can’t regret it. After a minute, his arms can’t hold him up and he rolls off.

“Watch and learn, kiddo,” she says and shoots a look over her shoulder at Derek. Her finger’s working her clit; Stiles can see his come start to dribble out and mess the sheets.

Then Derek’s _right there_ with his head buried between Laura’s legs. He’s spreading her wide; her thigh brushes against Stiles’ softening cock. Derek’s attacking her pussy, making hungry, wet sounds as he sucks Stiles’ come from inside her. Laura arches her back and twists her hands into the sheets, crying out her brother’s name.

Afterwards, Derek kisses Stiles for the first time. His mouth is still filthy. His tongue slips in so Stiles can taste the flavour the three of them make together. It’s bitter and sweet, unexpectedly perfect.

* * *

**32.**

By the time Erica reached up to the station, mascara-stained tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

“Derek!” she wailed, but he was already bounding out of the train car, Isaac a cautious shadow behind him. 

“What happened?” Derek asked,. 

Erica shook her head, still crying. _It’s okay,_ she assured the part of her that was still a nervous virgin. _They’re Pack._ In one move, she stripped it over her head, her breasts bouncing with the motion. She hadn’t bothered putting on a bra.

For a second, they both just stared at her bare breasts and stomach. Isaac licked his lips. Derek’s eyes swept over her skin like he was searching for hidden wounds. Erica felt the sniffles start again.

“I have a pelt!” 

Isaac frowned, leaning in to see the fine, blonde hair on her breasts and stomach. “Huh. I guess you do.”

“We’re wolves,” Derek said with a shrug. “It used to happen to Laura.” 

“ _You_ don’t have a pelt.”

Derek actually smiled, reaching for her hand. “Come here,” he said. Erica let him lead her into the train, her top still crumpled in one hand and Isaac trailing behind them.

* * *

The wax burned when Derek dripped it onto her stomach, and Erica squirmed. Since becoming a werewolf, her relationship with pain had changed. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it still sent a low tingle running through her spine. In the doorway behind him, Isaac adjusted his pants. Their eyes met, and Isaac swallowed, glancing towards the door in silent question. Erica hesitated, then shook her head. 

Derek’s hand slid low on her hip, stretching the skin taut. He ripped the muslin off, and Erica cried out. But the hot drip of wax was already starting again, and her skin tingled as the slight burn healed.

By the time Derek cupped her breast in one hand, she was a squirming mess. He cradled it, one thumb skirting over her nipple. She shuddered.

“You like that.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Derek glanced over her shoulder, jerking his chin at Isaac. “A little help?” 

Erica’s breath caught in her throat. Part of her thought about protesting, but Derek’s thumb was rubbing her nipples, and Erica mentally growled at it to shut up. When Isaac slid in behind her, his erection pressed against her ass. His smaller hands replaced Derek’s, kneading her breast.

The trickle of hot wax on her breast was exquisite. When Derek ripped offthe strip, she actually groaned, grinding back against Isaac. Derek glanced up through his lashes, then pressed his open mouth to the reddened patch of fragile skin. At the same time, one of Isaac’s hands squirmed around to the waistband of her sweatpants. 

She caught his hand, dragging it beneath the elastic. He found her clitoris through her damp panties, and she gasped, low and broken. The hot burn of wax dripped over her other breast, and she whimpered, head falling back against Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac’s fingers slid inside the elastic leg band, touching her where she was damp and aching. She giggled in nervous, breathless joy as his hand curled and he drove two fingers into her. 

“Fuck!” 

She ground down into the touch, trembling as he found that place inside her that she always aimed for when she touched herself late at night. His fingers rubbed over her g-spot, again and again, and she closed her eyes, shuddering, feeling weightless and electric. Then Derek ripped the muslin, and she screamed, arching her back as she clenched around Isaac’s hand.

When she came back to herself, Isaac’s fingers were still working her, and his erection was rubbing against her ass in little, desperate circles. Erica pushed her hair away from her hot face, still trembling, and met Derek’s eyes as he threw the used muslin strip behind him. He smiled again, low and private, and reached for her sweats, drawing them down over her hips, exposing Isaac’s hand curled over her dripping pussy.

She heard the bashful, virgin part of her say, “I don’t want either of you to fuck me.” She had someone else in mind for that, and a new wave of wetness spilled over Isaac’s fingers as she thought about Boyd’s body arching over hers. 

“That’s okay,” Derek said, and bent to lick her juices from Isaac’s straining fingers. “We can still think of plenty to do. Isn’t that right, Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Isaac groaned, as he slid another finger into her. 

Erica laughed shakily, and opened to them.

* * *

**33.**

Lydia trails a finger along the line of his naked shoulder, skin smooth and taut over powerful muscles. She can feel the minute shift of his body under her hand, but he stays exactly where she put him: kneeling naked in the middle of the room, outstretched hands resting on his spread thighs, back straight and head bowed.

There's a noise behind her. Lydia smiles to herself ruefully. She could never teach that one to keep still. He's twitchy, insolent and smart-mouthed, but quick and so eager. She beckons to him with one finger. "Come here, Stiles."

His feet make a soft sound on the plush carpet as he sinks down to his knees beside her. He's naked like Derek and she can see he is hard already. She strokes an affectionate hand through his hair. "This is Derek," she says. "He's for you."

Stiles looks up at her with wide, startled eyes. "For me?"

"Yes." She smiles. "Do you like him?"

Stiles swallows. "He's beautiful," he breathes.

"Derek," she says, sliding one hand around his neck and curling her fingers around his throat, palm resting against the smooth leather of his collar. "This is Stiles."

She motions for Stiles to face Derek, and he eagerly shuffles in front of him, flushed cock bobbing between his thighs. Lydia's lips twitch. 

When Stiles is settled, she tilts up Derek's head with just the barest pressure against his throat. "Open your eyes," she murmurs. "Look at him." Lydia can see the moment Derek obeys in the way Stiles' face changes. There's a light in his eyes and his lips curl in a soft smile as if to say 'hi, hello there'. 

"Stiles," she says, and his eyes snap to her instantly. "Help me put on the harness."

Stiles' hands are reverent on her body as he slides off her robe and fits her into her favorite harness, fingers sure on the buckles and leather straps so they lay nice and snug against her skin.

They move to bracket Derek, Stiles kneeling in front of him and Lydia at his back. There's a sheen of sweat on Derek's skin now, like it's getting harder to stay still. Good, Lydia thinks as she slides one hand back into his hair, gripping tightly and pulling his head back as she presses her hips against his ass, dragging the head of the strap-on over his hole again and again and again until Derek can't help pushing back. Derek's skin feels feverish against her bare breasts and his hole is already wet and stretched perfectly for her cock to slide into him smoothly. Next time she'll let Stiles prepare Derek, working him loose with those long, slender fingers of his, instead of putting him in a corner to watch.

Stiles is bracing Derek, fingers curled around his biceps, keeping him upright while Lydia slides her cock in and out of Derek's body, steady and precise. She doesn't need to see Derek's face to read his pleasure, everything written in the sinuous curve of his body and the glazed look on Stiles face, lips parted and cheeks flushed a blotchy red.

"You can kiss him," she murmurs. Stiles nods slowly, eyes never leaving Derek's face. "Stiles," she says, putting command into her voice, and he jerks and blinks at her like he just woke from a dream. He licks his lips and swallows, slowly raising one hand to cradle Derek's cheek against his palm. Derek's head moves into the touch without hesitation, and Lydia slides her hand over Stiles' on Derek's cheek, thumb brushing a gentle caress against Derek's neck. Stiles looks at her over Derek's shoulder, his smile tremulous and brilliant, before leaning in towards Derek, eyes falling close at the last moment.

They kiss and kiss and kiss and Derek grows restless and tense under her hands. She grips his hips and fucks into him harder, faster, her hair falling into her face and clinging to her sweaty skin. She wants Derek to come just from this, the sensation of her cock pushing into him deep and sweet, her mouth against the back of his neck and Stiles murmuring in his ear, praising him "so good, you're doing so good, _Derek_ ," surrounded by them, close and safe, and cradled in their arms.

Derek is panting now, swaying in place and moaning helplessly, utterly gone and radiant with it. "Come for us," she breathes against his skin, and he shudders and arches and comes.

* * *

**34.**

"Well, well what do we have here?" Peter asked, looking at Stiles spread out on the bed. "Aren't you a wanton little bitch?”

The boy glared at him wordlessly - not surprising, considering the gag in his mouth - and pulled at the fur lined handcuffs securing his arms to the headboard.

Peter smirked, knowing very well that Stiles was just playing coy, the foolish child had a problem with admitting his desires, so naturally someone had to take the reins from time to time to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of. Peter unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up to his elbow, more for show than anything practical; he didn’t plan on getting dirty this early in the game. He was glad to see that it had the desired effect as Stiles followed his movements with eyes much more eager than his sullen face would indicate.

Peter sat down by the boy’s hip, smiling at the slow flush travelling down his lover’s chest toward his half-hard cock. It was amazing how worked up Stiles could become without even a touch. That was something he planned to fully explore tonight.

“You know how much I love to hear your voice, darling,” he started, noticing Stiles blinking at the pet-name “but to be honest, I’m a firm believer that good little girls shouldn’t talk back to their betters.”

It was most amusing to see his boy’s face grow red with annoyance and probably a healthy dose of indignation on the part of the female gender, but the air was still filled with the thick fragrance of arousal and from the corner of his eye Peter could see his cock twitch.

“I think it’s time someone reminded you of your place, hm?” He traced the lips stretched over the gag carefully with a fingertip, ignoring Stiles’s badly repressed moan at the contact. “You can be such a handful, and I had enough of this unseemly behaviour. You will have to relearn what it means to be a woman.”

His hand travelled lower, caressing the mole-dotted skin with the back of his fingers until he reached Stiles nipple. He rubbed at it for a bit.

“You like that don’t you? Girls like you have very sensitive tits... Look at it, I barely touched it and your cute little nipple is already hard as a diamond. Does it feel good?” He looked up to Stiles face, only to see that his eyes were closed and he was blushing so hard that Peter was almost worried about him popping a blood vessel. 

“Look at me, slut!” he ordered, and the boy snapped to attention. “I asked you a question. Do you like it when people tease your teats?” Stiles just blinked at him with a glazed expression. Peter rolled his eyes and leaned closer to him, twisting the already over-sensitive nipple between his fingers. He was rewarded by a high pitched whine. 

“Oh, you love it, don’t you? I bet you could come with just me sucking on them. I bet you would even start lactating if I did it every day, hm?” Stiles looked at him with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but his rock hard cock jumping in excitement against his stomach told a different story.

Peter smiled. He left the boy’s chest alone, and pushed his legs apart. Stiles was lubed up - he had a thing about doing it himself before he came over to Peter’s apartment so they could start immediately - and Peter wasn’t about to just look that over.

“My, my. Just a bit of attention to your tits and you’re already soaking wet down here. You really are a little bitch.” He pushed in two fingers in one go, watching as Stiles arched off the bed.

“Is it good? Is your pussy ready for me?” He leaned closer to the boy, alternating between biting his earlobe and whispering in his ear.

“You have a hungry cunt,” Peter commented as he started to move his fingers, hard and fast. “I bet it would suck my come right up. Maybe I won’t use a condom today, I will shoot straight into your sweet little pussy and knock you right up...” 

Stiles body went completely rigid in his hands - and on his fingers - as he came and Peter relentlessly massaged his prostate through the aftershocks. 

Maybe next time he could fuck Stiles through the fantasy...

* * *

**35.**

They both missed Jackson, both needed the connection. 

Lydia looked up from between Danny’s legs where she fucked her fingers into his tight hole; she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that the last person to do this was Jackson. She licked her lips and fucked faster. 

“Did he do it like this?” she hissed. She slowed, pulled out, then added a fourth. “Say it.”

“No,” Danny gasped. He spread his legs further apart and pushed back onto her fingers. “He fucked me. He fucked me until I screamed.”

Lydia stopped and pulled her fingers out, “Well, we’ll just have to see if I can top that then.”

She looked over at the dildo with the attached harness and bullet vibrator; smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder. Danny propped himself on his elbows and followed her gaze. He sat up and pulled it close, dropped it between them. He nudged her ass with his heel and waited until she looked back at him. “We can stop if you want.” 

“You’re right,” she grabbed the dildo and sat back. “We can.”

Danny nodded and watched her look at the tube of lube. “So you’re just gonna--”

“It’s what Jackson did, right?”

Danny swallowed and felt hurt war with excitement. “Yeah. But,” at her look he swallowed and ran his hand along the hard plastic. “He fucked my mouth first.”

He cocked an eyebrow. _Challenge._

She slipped the harness over her thighs and adjusted her fauxcock, shifted it until the vibrator sat against her already wet clit. She moved up his body, purposely letting her cock slide over his, until she straddled his shoulders. She smirked and nudged the tip against his mouth. _Accepted._

“Then I guess you better open your mouth.”

He grinned and wet his lips, let his tongue brush her fauxcock. He kept his eyes on hers and wrapped his lips around the tip, used his hands on her ass to push her in. He licked along the dildo, wet the hard cock. Lydia slid her fingers along side the cock and laughed when Danny’s tongue moved from the plastic to her fingers. She pulled off, leaned back on her heels and wiped her thumb over his mouth. She leaned down and kissed him. “Now. Turn over, Mahealani.”

Danny shivered at the tone, at the kiss. Jackson used to say, do, the same thing and he couldn’t stop himself from pushing up and knocking Lydia onto her back. He grabbed her ass and groaned when their cocks bumped, then again when his fingers dipped between her cheeks. She was softer than Jackson, her body melting into his and he hated her for it. But he couldn’t stop himself from jerking his hips against hers.

She rolled her hips again then pushed him back, waved her finger in a circle. “I’m not asking again.”

Danny turned around, set his knees apart, looked over his shoulder and smirked. “You sure you know what to do? It’s a bit differe--”

Lydia growled, slapped his ass and slid in; and Danny froze. “God, warn a--”

Lydia still and draped herself over his back. She whispered into his ear, “I thought you wanted it to hurt.”

Danny pushed back until he was flush against her and Lydia leaned back. 

“Move,” he grunted. She grinned, flipped the vibrator on and shook her head. “Not yet.”

She let the feeling, the vibrations, move over her. Then she moved. She thought of the times Jackson had fucked her; a little too hard and a little too fast, and she moved like he had. 

Danny moaned, he pushed into her rhythm. Every time she fucked into him, the vibrator slid against her. Danny moved his hand to his cock and Lydia spanked him again, “Not yet.”

She fell over him, snapped her hips against his and felt her orgasm build. She wrapped her hand around his cock and mouthed the side of his neck. “I want you to think of me when you come.”

She jacked her hand faster, set it to the rhythm of her thrusts and vibrations, and held her orgasm until she felt his cock thicken. She felt his cum spill over her hand and she came as he groaned. Then she collapsed over him, her hair stuck to her shoulders and back. 

“Pull out,” Danny grunted into the pillow, then sighed when she did. He turned to her and smiled. “I miss him too.”

Lydia stared at the ceiling and nodded.

* * *

**36.**

Derek wakes to find Stiles asleep and clinging to his chest. It's becoming a habit for the new wolf to sneak into his bed at night—not that Derek blames him—everyone is intimidated by Peter, and Stiles is still so vulnerable. He gives into the impulse to finger Stiles' hair. In all the nights he's crept under his sheets, Derek has never dared touch him, but then, this is the first time Stiles has cozied up to him instead of scrunching against the wall. He wonders how someone so mouthy can be so shy—during the day Stiles avoids making eye contact with him, blushing whenever Derek catches him staring. 

It's been so long since Derek has taken a mate, but now, tangled up in each other like lovers, it seems almost natural when he kisses Stiles' lips open and licks into his mouth. Stiles murmurs something in his sleep and winds his arms around Derek's neck. Damn. Of his smell Derek can't get enough, and he buries his face in Stiles' neck as he rocks them gently together, toying with the elastic on Stiles' underwear and slipping his fingers beneath. Stiles is so willing and pliant like this and Derek wants nothing more than to lick the soft furrow of his ass until he's loose enough for Derek to push his cock inside. The thought makes his balls hitch. 

He rolls Stiles onto his back and draws away the blanket, watching hungrily as the drag of the material hardens Stiles' nipples into small peaks. After planting a kiss on his belly, Derek slides Stiles' underwear down to reveal his shrunken prick lying against his thigh, the foreskin gathered protectively over the head. Derek wants a taste of him just like this, fresh and perfect.

He takes Stiles' soft dick into his mouth and tongues the silken folds of skin lining his shaft. Sucking carefully, Derek slides his lips around the tip until Stiles' small prick almost slips from his mouth, and then swallows him down again greedily. He tastes musky and slightly sweet from the last time he'd come, and Derek, eager to lick Stiles clean, laps up the flavor. 

As Stiles hardens, Derek coaxes the head of Stiles' prick out of the foreskin and slides his tongue in the slit where precome is freshly dripping. He hesitates only a moment before toying with Stiles' hole, and when he slips in the tip of his finger, Stiles stirs. Not yet in control of his limbs, Stiles tugs weakly at Derek's hair and moans his name in blissful disbelief, spurring Derek on with cries that grow dangerously loud. The thought that the pack might overhear, might _know_ what Derek is doing, floods him with lust, and he flips them over and straddles Stiles over his face.

"Fuck my mouth," he orders. 

Stiles' eyes go wide in surprise, but he does what he's told. With one hand supporting his weight on the pillow and the other feeding his dick between Derek's parted lips, Stiles pumps his hips hesitantly, seeking permission. Even fully hard, Stiles' dick is no bigger than a mouthful, and Derek can take a lot more. He grabs Stiles' ass and drives his thrusts fast and deep until he's half-choking on cock. 

 

"S'perfect," Derek slurs, spit dripping from his mouth as he watches Stiles, his face strained and eyes hooded, moving over him. He wants to make Stiles come apart, he wants to _ruin_ him, so he slicks his finger with his own precome and pushes into Stiles' tightly clenched asshole. Shocked, Stiles loses his rhythm and rams himself too hard into Derek's mouth, but soon he's arching back, wanton, seeking more of Derek's eager finger, grinding his hips to get Derek nice and deep. 

"Jesus... Stiles, I had no idea..." Derek gasps between thrusts. Stiles' dick is shuddering dangerously in his mouth, and Derek, knowing he's close, too, jerks his own cock in demanding tugs, imagining what it would feel like to sink inside Stiles' tight ass, to stretch Stiles' rim until he'd accommodate Derek's massive girth. Just as he's about to lose control, he crooks his finger inside Stiles, who, releasing a stunned cry, shoots hot come over Derek's lips. Before Stiles can catch his breath, Derek joins their mouths and forces him to kiss away his stain. 

When they finally come apart, Stiles looks embarrassed but sated. He curls up in Derek's arms. 

"You'll never get me out of your bed now."

* * *

**37.**

Erica has never minded the way Stiles dresses. She liked him before he'd ever noticed her, or before anyone had noticed him; when they were both wearing things too baggy for their frames, trying to hide.

But she's moved beyond that, to bigger and better things, and she thinks it's time Stiles did too.

"Alright but, when you said you wanted to give me a fashion makeover, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Stiles says.

"What were you expecting?" she asks, lacing him up.

"Dunno," he says. "A shopping trip, definitely, some embarrassingly tight shirts and jeans, maybe you'd do my makeup afterward. Something twinky and emo, eyeliner maybe."

"We could do the makeup if you wanted to," Erica says, magnanimous.

"Sure, whatever," Stiles says. "All I mean is, it's just a little weird that you're dressing me in _your_ clothes. The makeover atmosphere is lacking."

She snorts and braces one fist against his back to pull the corset tight. The tension of the laces drags a little gasp from the back of Stiles' throat that she likes very much.

"You have a great figure," she says. "My clothes are good for playing up exactly that. Don't knock 'em."

"Wasn't," he says, and then wiggles his shoulders a bit. "Huh. This is surprisingly comfortable."

"Right?" she says, selecting a different set of laces this time, and pulls again.

When they've got it all snug and closed up around Stiles' waist, she's almost purring with contentment at the look on his face. His monologue has gone slow and murmury, his hands coming up to graze the silk as he blinks. She digs her fingers into the done-up laces of the corset and tugs, firm; a hard breath punches out of Stiles as he stumbles backwards into the heat of her body.

"I like this," she says, digging her chin into his shoulder and dragging her hand up his front. Her fingers happen upon the gape at the top where her boobs usually get pushed up. Stiles is flat, of course; she wanders a hand into the empty space and traces carefully around a nipple. "If only you had a little chest to fill this out."

"I don't know, it's kinda hot," Stiles says, watching her hand.

She trails her finger back up the center of his chest, through the fine scrub of hair, to the little hollow at his throat—all the way up his neck until she's tipping his head back and cupping his jaw. He's trembling a bit.

"Um, Erica," he says.

"Yeah," she says, pressing her lips lightly to his bare shoulder.

"Were you planning for this makeover to turn into me coming in my pants, because I swear to god I could really—"

She laughs.

Stiles does not come in his pants. She gets him out of them, firstly, and then gets rough with him—because she can, and because the noises he makes in pleasure and halfhearted protest are so expressive.

"Nnno—" he says as she pushes him face first against the cold wall, and then "ah fuck, fuck" as she grips his cock and strips it. He grinds his temple against the wall and braces his hands there, spreading his legs so she has room to work. She takes that space—steps in right behind him and folds all along his back, burying her nose at the nape of his neck, and doesn't stop the motion of her hand until he's straining, fighting back against her, and finally coming all over her wrist.

It's easy to twist his body as she wants, with the whole of him packaged up tight in her corset. He's sweetly limp, flushed all the way from his hairline to where the skin of his chest disappears under the silk.

"I don't give makeovers for free, you know," she says.

"I can pay you back," he says drowsily, eyes fluttering open. "Could I buy the corset off you, too?"

"I only take payment in orgasms," she says, and grins.

He grins right back, sharp. "S'fine. Wanna cash it in with fingers, or tongue?"

"It'll be pretty expensive," she says, and leans in for a kiss. "It'll probably take both. In multiple installments."

* * *


	7. Group C (no warnings)

**38.**

If he were being honest, it all started that first year, when Stiles called him Miguel and told Derek to put one of Stiles's shirts on. It sat in the back of his brain for two years after that, a quiet whisper he scarcely acknowledged. But they're fucking now, and its brought it all back out.

Sometimes, when they're lazing in bed afterwards and Derek needs to get up, he'll choose Stiles's shirt instead of his own from the tangle of clothes they've left discarded on the floor, or he'll forgo a shirt altogether and pull on Stiles's boxers. They fit more like boxer briefs on him, and poorly at that, but Derek kind of likes it that way. He likes when the seam of Stiles's boxers dig into his over-sensitized cock. It reminds him off what they have together. They don't fit either, not really. Not easily. Buy they make it work all the same.

It doesn't go any further than that for another six months, until the day Derek's heat goes out. They huddle together under the covers, the one warn, comfortable place in the whole apartment. Derek's wearing Stiles's shirt from a brief, hurried excursion to the bathroom, so when Stiles shifts above him and clears his throat, looking longingly toward the kitchen like he does when he's thirsty but unwilling to leave bed, Derek says, "I'll get it."

"Nuh uh." Stiles scrambles up quickly. "You have to stay here and keep the sheets warm so I can defrost when I get back." He clambers out of bed and immediately starts shivering. "Balls, it's cold!" And before Derek can say a word, he snatches Derek's jacket off the floor, shrugs it on, and dashes across the apartment. He howls when carpet gives way to linoleum beneath his bare feet, the water runs briefly, and then he's back. He practically dives back into the bed, tucking his frigid feet against Derek's legs and shivering pointedly, as though this is all Derek's fault.

Derek might be more sympathetic, but Stiles is filling the bed with the smell of leather and skin and Derek is petty sure his brain has short circuited. He rolls over, pinning Stiles on his back so Derek can look at him, the contrast between black leather and pale skin, the way the stripe of bared flesh down Stiles's middle leads Derek's eye directly to his cock, which is already starting to stiffen beneath Derek's scrutiny.

It's an invitation too tempting for Derek to ignore. He grips Stiles's arms to keep him down, shivering at the feel of leather beneath his hands instead of skin, and bends low to swallow Stiles's cock down all at once.

Stiles gives a surprised shout and thrashes beneath him before Derek pins him better. His cock swells rapidly on Derek's tongue. Derek licks him, sucks at him, and every time he lowers his head to swallow Stiles deeper, the zippers and clasps of the jacket press into his cheeks and his jaw, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't forget that Stiles is lying beneath him wearing nothing but Derek's jacket.

It's so much better than if he wore nothing at all.

It doesn't take Stiles long to come, his cries going hoarse as he spills himself down Derek's throat. Derek would be embarrassed at how close behind he is, but all he can see is Stiles lying there, flushed and sated and thoroughly wrecked and still wrapped up leather that belongs to Derek, and that's all it takes.

He comes across Stiles's stomach, gets it on his coat and it'll probably be a bitch to clean later, but he can't care. He nuzzles against Stiles's throat and the jacket's collar.

"Dude," Stiles says with an unsteady laugh. "I'm going to wear this _all the time_." And there's nothing Derek can do but nod helpless agreement.

"Wait, really?" Stiles pushes up on an elbow and looks down at him. "You're giving this to me?"

"No." The growl that rumbles through Derek's throat is immediate. "It's _mine_."

If Derek gave it to him, then it would be Stiles's when he wore it. And that would defeat the point entirely.

* * *

**39.**

Erica can tolerate many things for Stiles’ sake, but a six-hour marathon of “How It’s Made” is not among them.

Still, she doesn’t feel like getting up off the couch, where she’s lying spooned up against Stiles, his chin resting on the top of her head and one hand idly stroking the skin just above the waistband of her jeans. This position is good for two things, and Erica isn’t feeling sleepy.

Reaching up, she covers Stiles’ hand with her own. He whines when she pulls it off her hip, but makes another sound entirely when she brings his hand up to her mouth and sucks on two of his fingers. They’re long and graceful and stroke lightly against her tongue as she wets them.

It’s tricky maneuvering his wet fingers into her jeans without undoing them. The jeans are tight enough to make her tingle pleasantly if she crosses her legs, but they’ll feel even better pressing Stiles’ slick fingers against her.

He pushes them beneath her panties and she stops him just as the tips press against her folds. She presses between his first two knuckles, getting him to split his fingers slightly so they’re resting on either side of her clit. He makes a soft, broken noise when she clasps him by the wrist and begins to rock back and forth, teasing herself. 

His fingers are a tight fit, and she only has to roll her hips slightly to get the feeling she wants, warm little jolts of pleasure that start her nerve endings sizzling. She likes the build-up, and her mouth falls open as her breath starts to come a little faster. Stiles whispers her name, kissing the top of her head and tucking up tighter against her back. When he squeezes his fingers together ever so slightly, she bucks and gasps in surprise, feeling him smile against her scalp.

Fine. He wants be a more active participant here? Erica can work with that. She pulls his hand back slightly and squeezes his first two fingers together before guiding them back down. Grasping the back of his hand, she manipulates it so he’s rubbing tight circles around her clit.

She controls the pressure with little more than a squirm of her hips, but it makes her whole body undulate and he moves with her. It’s starting to get really good now, and when he briefly dips his hand down to wet his fingertips, she moans, suddenly realizing how empty she feels.

As she reaches down to finally unzip her jeans, she mutters, “Don’t you fucking dare stop,” and Stiles squeezes her clit again, gently, making her shudder. She wriggles her jeans and panties down to mid-thigh. It still doesn’t give him a lot of room to work with, but when she gasps, “Other hand,” she doesn’t even have to tell him what to do. 

He reaches down and slides two fingers into her, murmuring “Fuck” when he feels how wet she is. At this angle, he can’t push very deep – his wrist is probably already straining a bit as it is – but he doesn’t need to. She just wants the fullness right there at her opening. “Another one,” she breathes, tightening around his fingers to show it’s not quite enough. He obliges and oh, fuck, that’s good. That’s _perfect._

The pleasure coiling low in her stomach is getting more and more urgent, and she finally grabs his wrist and holds him still, grinding her clit against his fingers. He’s whispering something in her ear, low and dirty, but she doesn’t hear it at all, only the wet sound of his fingers, and with a hard shiver, she’s coming, body shuddering silently with each sweet pulse of it.

He’s the one who makes little sighs of adoration every time she clenches around his fingers. When she goes limp, he brings her down gently, fingertips wringing a few jolting aftershocks out of her as she gasps for breath. She’s still got his wrist in an iron grip, but at least there are no claw marks. 

When she finally lets him go, she’s not surprised that he immediately fumbles for the remote. “What?” she asks, getting a final glance at the show before he switches it off. “You don’t want to find out how steel shipping drums are made?”

“Already saw that one,” he says, and she can hear the grin before she sees it, when he flips her onto her back and kisses her down into the cushions.

* * *

**40.**

**Title:** He Wakes When He Dreams

Stiles hates to admit it, but he’s not exactly an experienced kind of guy. You know, expeeeeeerienced. _Seeeexually_.

When he was 16, and only like half the people he knew were sexually active, it wasn’t such a big deal. But, Stiles is 18 now and headed off to college in a week. He does _not_ want to be the only virgin on campus (hyperbole; Stiles can’t find a fuck to give.) So, he chalks up his most recent stalking of Danny Mahealani to so much desperation and his need for sexual sanity.

“Please tell me you’re kidding me,” Danny says and quickly adds, “You know what? Never mind. I _seriously_ want to pretend like you did not just ask me that.”

Stiles huffs. “Come on, Danny! Just do this one little thing for me and I swear I’ll never bother you about _anything_ ever again.”

“One little th-? Stiles, this is _not_ a little thing!” Danny tries to push around Stiles to get to his car, but Stiles’ reflexes have gotten a workout in the last couple of years. He moves quickly to stand in front of Danny’s drivers side door. Danny glares. “No. Now move.”

“Please,” Stiles tries for sincere. He’s pretty sure he nailed it.

Danny adjusts his backpack and growls, “You’re not even gay, Stiles. No.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Stiles says and then smiles a little. “Well, that’s uh. That’s up for negotiation.” Which is true. Because Stiles is definitely not straight completely. It probably would have been best to start with that. “I should have started with that.”

Stiles can’t decipher the look on Danny’s face, but doesn’t really get a chance to because Danny is pushing Stiles out of the way. “I need to go,” he says and Stiles actually lets him by to get in his car. Stiles is still standing there when Danny drives out of the parking lot, trying to figure out what to do now.

*****

“You probably broke him, Stiles,” Scott says and throws the lacrosse ball up towards his ceiling. “You know this isn’t a big deal right? You being a virgin? Not a big deal.”

Stiles stands up from Scott’s desk chair and grabs the lacrosse ball from the air before it lands back in Scott’s hand. He growls down at Scott, with very little heat behind it, and says, “It’s a big deal,” before walking out.

“Where are you going? Bring back my ball!”

Stiles holds back the immature chuckle he feels threatening to bubble out. “No. And home. I need some sleep.”

*****

“Oh fuck.” Stiles is absolutely dreaming. “ _Daaaanny._ ” But he _never_ wants to wake up. Danny’s mouth on his aching cock is exactly what he needs right now, feels exactly how he thought it would. All wet heat and glorious pressure, sucking him off and playing with his balls between those impossibly gorgeous fingers.

Stiles’ hips thrust up and he hears Danny choke on his cock when it bumps the back of his throat, but he doesn’t stop him. So Stiles just keeps thrusting. He watches as his hard cock slides past Danny’s stretched red lips over and over again. His head drops back to the pillow, one hand holding Danny’s head in place as he fucks his mouth, and his eyes roll back into his head.

He’s not going to last much longer and yet he never wants this to end.

That’s when Danny hums around his dick and slips one finger back to stroke over Stiles’ hole. With a shout, Stiles grips hard at Danny’s hair and shoots his load down his throat. “Jesus fuck, Danny!”

Stiles wakes up then, wishing he could have basked in the imaginary afterglow for a while, but knowing that he’s got a mess in his shorts to clean up. Again.

Except.

“What?” Stiles voice is barely his own. It’s sleep-sounding and gritty, husky. “What?”

Danny winks at him before licking a long stripe over Stiles’ slowly softening and oversensitive cock.

“What?”

Danny sucks the head of Stiles’ cock and he wants to shrink away because it’s too much, too much, but too _good_ to move. His dick slips out from his mouth with a wet pop and Stiles can’t stop the groan from spilling out of his mouth. “You wanted experience. I wanted your cock. Win meet win.”

Later, after Stiles is done happily choking on Danny’s cock, he’ll realize Danny took his somnophilia virginity like a boss. Danny is a kinky bastard. He’s sure of it.

Stiles grins.

* * *

**41.**

Peter would like to say that she’s a part of the plan, but she isn’t. She’s a distraction, but he’s allowed some of those considering he just regained his mortal body and all the _very_ interesting things it’s good for. People who have never been dead simply don’t appreciate the things their living bodies can do.

It’s such a waste.

These things don’t even have to be complicated. For example, he met her – Morrell, the name on her office door says – while he was keeping an eye on Derek’s useless pack. They'd shared a few loaded looks across the hallway. And now here she is with her skirt bunched up around her waist, back pressed to the door of her office as he slides his hand up her inner thigh.

The blinds over the window on her door bunches a little where her shoulders press into them and she looks a bit nervously at the small gap at the bottom, but makes no attempt to move. He smirks at her, brushing his fingers over the line of her panties, enjoying the way her legs tremble. When he hooks his thumbs inside them, pulling them down, her heartbeat picks up.

He may have taken the initiative, but she’s more than willing, even if the students are walking by right outside. She circles her hips when he strokes her, fingers dipping in between her lips where she’s wet and hot.

Even if she hadn’t been willing, he would have taken it anyway. It might have been more fun if she’d put up a bit of a fight. He would’ve pressed her to the door, holding her steady, telling her to take it. It’s vivid in his mind when he pushes two fingers into her with no warning and she lets out a sound of surprise, her lips falling open.

She recovers quickly, pushing back onto his fingers. And, fine, he likes this too. Because she’s fucking wet, coating his fingers until it slides down into his palm. Her head is thrown back against the door, the skin of her neck exposed and tempting, but no, now’s not the time for that.

He was planning to fuck her, making the door rattle under them, but the way she clutches around his fingers, pushing down to meet them with nearly inaudible moans is a little transfixing. He likes how she shivers when he curls them inside her.

So he just fucks her like this, watching her as she bites her lip and she turns her head to the side.

“Scott? Dude, what’s up?”

Peter grins as her eyes fly open, wide and concerned. He just slides his fingers in hard and deep to distract her before flicking his thumb across her clit, watching her arch against the door.

“Nothing, I just... nothing,” Scott says before their footsteps disappear quickly down the hall.

She comes, head thrown back as she coats his fingers. It slides down his palm and then his wrist. He doesn’t let her recover, but just flips her around, barely letting her get her palms against the door before he gets his cock out of his jeans and pushes in past her swollen lips. Her muscles are still spasming, and she’s tight and slick around his cock as he fucks her.

He trails his fingers against her cheek, smearing her juices over her skin, before he pushes them into her mouth. She sucks them clean as he buries himself in her and comes.

He’s still a little out of it when she moves away from him, pushing her skirt back into place. She seems unaffected as she smooths the fabric down, smiling at him.

“Well, that was fun,” she says, pressing herself against him.

She puts a hand at the back of his neck, pushing him down for an open-mouthed kiss. There’s a strange taste when he licks at her bottom lip, one that has nothing to do with kisses. He pulls away, his blood rushing uncomfortably.

“So, Peter,” she says, her lips glistening. “What can you tell me about the Alpha pack?”

His eyes widen, the taste of magic on his tongue making his throat constrict.

* * *

**42.**

Stiles is still half asleep when he walks into the kitchen, wearing nothing but last night's rumpled boxers. He's glad his dad has the night shift and won't be home before midday, because the task of dressing feels too daunting without coffee, and even the boxers are a concession to the cold December weather and not to modesty. He puts the coffee on, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The coffee's ready by the time he hears Lydia's footsteps in the corridor. He stirs one spoonful of sugar and resolutely doesn't turn around, not even when she enters the kitchen, so he's not prepared when he feels a soft weight draping over his back.

Lydia wraps her arms around Stiles and takes the cup from his hands. "Good morning," she says, close to his ear, and takes a sip.

"Hey, that's mine," Stiles says, but without real bite in his words. That's when he turns around and looks at Lydia, and it takes him a lot of willpower not to fumble everything and fall on the floor on his ass. She's gorgeous this morning, with no make-up and her hair still mussed, wearing one of Stiles's old sweaters. It makes her look softer, somehow.

It's not a regular occurrence, this. The sleeping-with-Lydia part happens often enough, yeah, and sometimes she'll even stay the night, letting Stiles hold her and slipping out of bed at the crack of dawn without saying anything. (Lydia said when it started that what she wanted was fucking. She never said she needed cuddles too. Stiles provides both, and doesn't delude himself that he's replacing Jackson, not in any way that matters.) But she's here now, in Stiles's kitchen, drinking his coffee and wearing his clothes. Stiles buries his head against her neck, smells his own cheap soap on her skin, and refuses to think about what this might mean.

The sweater feels soft under Stiles's cheek, the fabric worn down by use. Its dark burgundy sets off Lydia's pale skin. Stiles runs his fingers along Lydia's spine, tracing all the knobs. He can feel her chest rise and fall with every gulp of coffee she takes. When his hands reach down to cup her ass, there's only skin under the sweater. Lydia leans into his touch, and Stiles has to draw back and look at her, breathing hard and doing a creditable impression of a gasping fish.

Lydia just smirks and puts the empty cup down on the counter. "Didn't feel like putting on clothes," she says, conversationally. "Your dad's not here anyway, right?"

Stiles doesn't remember telling her that, doesn't really pay attention to what she's saying, because his hands are moving on their own, fumbling with the sweater's zipper and pulling it down and _oh God_. Maybe he died and went to heaven, to a very particular heaven where Lydia Martin is naked in his kitchen and grinding against him, kissing him with a mouth that tastes like coffee. Stiles doesn't know which religion might be associated with this heaven, but count him in.

Lydia manhandles him towards the nearest chair and pushes him down, moving to straddle him. Stiles lets her because, really, why wouldn't he. She makes to shrug out of the sweater but Stiles stops her with one hand over her shoulder. "Leave it," he says, wincing inwardly at how wrecked he sounds already. His thumb moves over her nipple, circling it lightly. Lydia shots him a questioning look, then bends down to kiss him, messy and open-mouthed. The sweater stays.

Stiles's dick is already straining the front of his boxers. Lydia gives it a couple of teasing strokes before lowering herself onto it, head thrown back to show the curve of her throat, fingers digging into Stiles's shoulders for balance. Stiles lets her do what she wants, like always, but he's glad when she starts moving her hips at a quick pace. He loves her teasing but this is good too, fast and messy and almost feverish.

He comes too quickly, biting his lip so he doesn't shout her name, or worse. He'd apologize for his lack of stamina, but Lydia kisses him silent, her hair falling around their heads in waves. She replaces his cock with her fingers, moaning softly against his mouth, and then she's coming with a soft cry, falling boneless in Stiles's arms. His hands curl in the fabric and pull her close.

* * *

**43.**

**********  
 _I don't tease myself too much, the need and want of it far too great, and I am also not patient, not for this. My parents aren't home, a long weekend out of town. After taking care to brush my long hair and put it up into a ponytail, and undress with care, seeing to my clothes, dressing just in my silk robe as I move across my room, to my bed. All movements are deliberate and I know just what I want and what I will do. It is not the first time after all._

 

He can smell her before he's all the way to her house. He is so intuned to it; it's a part of him and he would not deny that part of himself. Peter knows her parents aren't home but that hasn't stopped him before. It would just make things even more interesting. But it doesn't stop at the door or stay on the porch. He scales the side to the roof and the quietly, effortlessly moves to the ledge just outside one of the windows to her bedroom. It is one he knows well. Peter stands watching, leaning against the window jam. She is there, the lights in her room dim but he can see her just fine. Her pale skin unmarred but for the scars he left on her, her fiery hair spread out on the pillows behind her.

 

_My hands skim over my body, teasing my breasts and I can hear my own moans when my thumb rolls over and over the nipple. First one and then the other. And with each touch I can feel it moving through the rest of me, centering low in my stomach, increasing my arousal. Sometimes it is a quick need, just release is needed and then done. But other times, it is the slow build that I want, the release only part of the pleasure. This is one of those times._

 

Eyes are fixated on the rising and lowering of her chest, then down her arms to her fingers as they tease and part the apex of her legs and pressing and manipulating her clit. It is already greatly affecting her that much he can tell, and part of him wants those to be his fingers, his hands. But there would be a time and place for that.

 

_I bite my bottom lip and moan louder as my fingers rub and circle around my clit. My legs move apart a bit more and my hips push up from mmy bed a bit more. Words run through my head but none pass my lips, not yet. Just gasps and moans, whimpers and my breathing speeding up. I could feel myself getting more and more turned on and though I'd wated this to linger and go slow, I'm not sure my body had the same thought._

 

Peter can smell it, smell her arousal and how it is intensfying. He watches as her body gives in and soon she is writhing on her bed. She is driving herself crazy and closer to release, and all the wolf can think of was how much he wanted to be there beside her. He wanted to shed his clothes and press against her, skin against skin, his fingers replacing her own. He wanted to feel her losing her carefully held control.

 

_I can feel it coming on now. My fingers are moving faster and faster now; my feet are pressed down against my bed while my hips rock back and forth. I'm all warm and soft, fingers wet and continue to push me over the edge. The moans grow louder and my mouth stays open as I breath faster. And then I cry out as I crash, my fingers moving, my body tense and shaking as I come hard, with his name on my lips._

 

Peter watched feverishly as she pushed herself over the edge. He is hard in his jeans but he won't touch himself. Not yet, he will go and relive this, committing it to memory and making it last. His eyes flash red and a hand presses against the window. But it is the sound of his own name being called that surprises and pleases him the most. She wanted him and he knew he had chose well. His mate, his perfect match. And soon, on her birthday, he would claim her completely.

* * *

**44.**

“Bottom” wasn't the right description. Stiles Stilinski was more than happy to top if that's what his partner wanted. No, he wasn't a “bottom,” he was an ass slut. A greedy one. 

Plugs, beads, dildos, vibrators—his toy collection was extensive—he liked having something, anything, shoved up there. He liked his hole to be sloppy with lube or dripping with come so he could push a plug inside to hold it in. He liked the squelching sound of beads being pulled out one by one. He liked looking in a carefully-angled mirror to see his hole sucking in whatever it was offered. 

Derek Hale happened to have a different fetish. The thing that really got him off was bringing a certain mouthy ass slut just to the edge of orgasm and then pulling him back, taking him apart until the sarcasm and self-deprecation were nothing but pants and moans and “yes, Derek” and “more, Derek” and “if you don't let me come right now I'm going to shoot you with a wolfsbane bullet myself.”

It might have been a power trip on Derek's part, but it worked out well for both of them.

They were finally alone for the first time in weeks. Stiles entered the loft, stripped off his clothes immediately, and headed upstairs, looking over his shoulder and asking, “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Derek was going to make Stiles forget his own name.

He found Stiles already on his stomach, ready, waiting. Who was Derek not to comply?

Derek sucked his index finger into his mouth before pushing it in slowly. Stiles' hole was freshly clean, bleached and waxed so he looked like a fucking porn star. Derek couldn't care less about the manscaping, however Stiles wanted his asshole to look was fine with him, what mattered was how it felt inside, soft and warm and tight. 

He dribbled some lube down Stiles' crack, pushing it into his hole, coating the inside, careful not to press down on that bundle of nerves—right where Stiles wanted—until he added a second finger. Then he switched up his rhythm, twisting his fingers, mapping every inch he could reach, feeling Stiles clench around his digits every time he pushed in, trying to grab onto them and make them stay. 

Stiles sighed and moaned, but he wasn't pleading or begging. Yet. 

So Derek pulled out his fingers, watching Stiles' hole twitch greedily, already needing something to replace the loss.

Happy to comply, Derek slicked himself up and pushed his cock in slowly, achingly slowly, drawing out a long desperate groan from Stiles. 

“Love your fucking cock,” Stiles murmured as he pushed back his ass in offering. “So big.” 

Derek didn't quicken his pace, his thrusts slow and steady and hard. He bottomed out, hips flush with Stiles' ass, then pulled nearly all the way out before pushing right back in. Stamina a non-issue, he waited for Stiles to break, and he always did. 

“Derek,” Stiles finally sobbed. “Please, please.”

Only then did Derek grip onto Stiles' hips, letting his orgasm build with quick, brutal thrusts, until he was shooting his load, staying inside Stiles until his dick softened.

“God, Derek, I need.” Stiles squirmed.

But Derek already knew, so he spread Stiles' perfect, round ass cheeks with his hands and licked up the inside of Stiles' thigh where his come had started to roll down, all the way up to Stiles' asshole. He silently thanked the sex gods for the invention of flavored lube. 

He put his lips around Stiles' hole and sucked.

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles punctuated each word. 

Derek licked and laved, getting inside, collecting every last drop that he could on his tongue. 

Stiles was writhing under his hands. 

“Derek, you gotta let me, let me.” 

Wordlessly, he rolled Stiles over onto his back and pressed down on top of him, chest to chest, kissing him messily, pushing his come into Stiles' mouth with his tongue, making him taste what had just been inside him. 

As Stiles swallowed, Derek reached down and pushed two fingers into Stiles' ass one last time as he wrapped his other hand around Stiles' desperate cock. That was all it took.

Stiles arched his back and opened his mouth with a gasp, shooting come all over Derek's hand, his own stomach and chest.

Sweaty and sated and spent.

* * *

**45.**

Lydia and Allison fuck like this. 

It starts against the pillows, Allison’s hands cradling Lydia’s face, and Lydia’s clever fingers finding new ways to make Allison moan into her mouth. Then it moves sideways on the bed, and breaks for snuggling, before wandering back for some sexy dancing and sexier kissing against wall. 

Nights spent over at Lydia’s house are only worth it if they reach three orgasms or more. 

Allison is working on that third one for Lyds, tongue playing at the already sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, kissing her way up to Lydia’s pussy, already wet and waiting for her. Playing with light swipes across her clitoris, Allison has all kinds of plans.

Allison adds a finger or two, loving the way that Lydia takes them so easily, the way they disappear into her body. Lydia’s head is thrown back and her neck is one long, beautiful line, that Allison surges forward to mark. 

“C’mon Allison, give me more,” Lydia pants, fisting the sheets, hips rising to every thrust of Allison’s fingers. Allison is keeping to her own rhythm, she won’t be pressured to go faster by Lydia, but she adds another finger. Three of Allison’s fingers flexing and contracting in the wet pressure of Lydia’s body. 

Lydia’s hand tangles in Allison’s hair and she drags Allison forward. Allison gasps as Lydia bites her lower lip, tongue playing into Allison’s mouth like Lydia can’t get enough of her taste. 

“More, c’mon, more,” Lydia breathes right into Allison’s mouth. 

“You sure?” Allison whispers, right into her ear, where Lydia’s hair curls just so. 

Lydia nods hurriedly, hips jerking up to meet Allison’s palm. Four fingers, and Allison’s twists ever so gently. Lydia is still moaning and jerking in obvious pleasure. It’s tempting, so tempting to add her thumb. They’d never talked about this. But, it’s right there. 

So, Allison pumps her fingers once gently and then asks,”Can I? My whole hand?”

Lydia’s eyes are glazed, but for this her gaze sharpens. She nods haphazardly and waves at her nightstand. “Lube’s in the drawer.” 

“Gloves?” Allison asks. Lydia doesn’t reply and it doesn’t matter; she’s already rummaging in the drawer, and there they are: latex gloves and water-based lube. 

The glove feels weird on her hand; it’s a little bit awkward, the technical elements of fucking. The idea, though, is addictive. Allison’s thighs are already slicked up just from the thought. Lydia’s still fucked out on the bed. 

Allison makes her way to Lydia, hands sliding up Lydia’s legs, goosebumps rising in their wake. For a moment, Allison just breathes hot air against Lydia’s dripping pussy.. Lydia moans in response and rocks her head back and forth like she can convince Allison to move faster by the tilt of her hips and the grip of her hands on the sheets. 

Allison gets back to what she was doing, one finger, then two, sucking just a bit on Lydia’s clit to keep her interested. Half the fun is in the way Allison can read Lydia’s body like it’s her own, the rest is playing her like a sweet violin. 

A third and a fourth, and it’s all a seamless glide back and forth. Frictionless and unreal. Lydia gives a happy sigh like a good fucking was just what she wanted.

“Yeah, yeah, Allison.” 

Allison loves this. Breaking Lydia’s perfect grammar as she breaks her down. 

A thumb, swiveling at first, the ring of her fingers pressing against the swell of Lydia’s body and the rise of her pubic bone. Allison kisses Lydia’s hipbone, loving the way Lydia can’t help but move into the pressure. Allison bites gently at the raised bone there and pushes her way in. 

Lydia gasps, chest rising like she’s tied to the ceiling by a wire to her sternum. Allison tweaks one of her nipples, presented just so, and flexes her fingers at the same time.

Her mouth is making a perfect circle, lips bloodred and smudged as Lydia sinks nails into Allison’s shoulder and comes like a freight train. It’s just waves of pure pleasure running up her spine.

For a moment, she can’t think. 

The world stops spinning and she just breathes as everything holds its breath. 

And then she’s clutching Allison to her, panting Allison’s name into her neck, arms still shaking in the aftermath. 

When she composes herself, an eternity later, she snuggles up to Allison’s chest and says, “We’ve got to do that again.”

* * *

**46.**

The sun set slow and inexorable around the party, but its heat lingered in the wet air. It collected in little beads of perspiration between her breasts and at her nape, and built up stickily around the silk knot between her legs. She was going to stain this gown with sweat and get punished for it.

“Why Miss Hale!” Lydia Martin appeared at her elbow in a whirl. “You look positively stunning in that green. Did your Pa bring it back from Savannah?”

Miss Hale bared her teeth. “He did.”

Lydia hummed. “And what’s this I hear about your Pa throwing out Stiles Stilinski? Did he insult you, dear?”

“That is not—”

But the band chose that moment to launch into a reel, and she and Lydia had to make way for the dancing. Miss Hale slipped out to the periphery of the party and leaned into the shadow of an oak.

*

She never even liked Mr. Stilinski. Or she thought she hadn’t. He was amusing, was all. There was just one little misunderstanding involving an overturned teapot and Mr. Stilinski removing his necktie to demonstrate proper hogtying and also Laura disappearing from her chaperon duties, and everything had gone to hell. Mr. Stilinski and Pa had had a talk behind closed doors, and she was informed Mr. Stilinski would not be courting her anymore.

“For God’s sake, Pa, he wasn’t courting me.”

“Yes, he was.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes. He. Was.”

“But I—.” She swayed. “Oh.”

When she had arrived, stunned and silent, back in her own room, Laura was waiting. “I’m sorry,” Laura whispered. “I thought you needed a push.” 

*

Across the dance floor, Mr. Stilinski slung an arm around a friend, his blue coat fitted at the shoulders, and Miss Hale shifted on her feet, that sweat-drip sensation returning between her legs. When he turned and met her eyes, the corners of his mouth lifted ruefully.

She didn’t quite make a decision then so much as she shuffled backward, watching him frown as she faded out of the lamplight. She waited to make sure he would follow before turning blindly into the woods.

The noise of the party receded behind her; a whippoorwill called out somewhere near. She had no plan. 

“Miss Hale,” she heard him hiss.

“Here.” She put her back against a pine tree, uncaring of the sap.

His silhouette appeared a few steps away. “There are coyotes out here, are you crazy?”

“No,” she said, and then added, “I have your necktie.”

He huffed a thin laugh. “Keep it. It can be a memento of…a friend you once had.” He looked over his shoulder. “We ought to leave.”

She breathed fast. “I have it tied around my thigh.”

She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but she heard the rustle when he moved. She startled when his hands landed on her face and his thumbs swept up her cheekbones. “Around your—.” He exhaled in a hot rush over her face. “Lord Almighty. You ruin me, do you know that?” His fingers flexed like he couldn’t control them. “You ruin me.”

Well there’s an idea.

“If we get caught out here together—” she began.

“Your father will put a rifle to my back, and we’ll be married within the hour.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You—. What?”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to a declaration. “Pa said you couldn’t court me anymore. This is the only way—”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t know,” she protested, but the words got swallowed up by his mouth.

“Let me touch it,” he broke away to whisper. “The necktie. I won’t…I just want—”

Together, they swept up her skirt and petticoats, and he reached into her pantalets, skirted the apex of her thighs and stretched his fingers until he found it, a silk band digging into her skin.

He moaned as if he were in pain. “It’s wet.”

She felt herself blush. “It’s hot outside,” she said defensively.

“Oh darling,” he breathed, and his fingers slipped up and down the insides of her thighs. “That’s not sweat.”

And it wasn’t. With his tongue in her mouth and his fingers inside her, he could pump it out like she was a well, leaking hot and slick all down her legs and his forearm. Eventually Stiles knelt down and drank it from her, licking at his fingers and murmuring proposals.

His hand was still sticky when he put the ring on her finger.

* * *

**47.**

He does it because she tells him to. 

And because the look in her eyes when she pulled the underwear out of her drawer and handed it to him made him feel like he was burning up from the inside. It was the same scrap of lace she was wearing the first time they fucked, unbearably sexy as she wiggled out of her office clothes, dark green and rich against her skin. 

It doesn’t really smell like her, just her perfume and detergent. But the lace scratches over his skin like manicured fingernails and he’s half-hard as he tucks his dick in. Once he puts his jeans on it’s impossible to tell he’s not wearing his usual boxer-briefs. But Jackson knows and the thought makes him shiver.

He can’t stop thinking about it. The whole day at school, in class, at lunch, the pull of the lace against his skin is so distracting he barely manages to glare at Stiles when the idiot drops his entire lunch tray on Jackson’s shoes.

For the first time in his life he’s grateful that lacrosse season is over because it means that the second the last bell rings, he’s all but running to her house. He’s kind of sweaty when he gets there but not embarrassed enough to care. 

She’s wearing some kind of see-through negligee when she opens the door, hip cocked and smirking.

“Hello Jackson, do come in.” She leans back, but still somehow brushes against him as he steps forward.

“Hi Lydia.” It’s still weird to call her Lydia, sometimes in his head he still thinks of her as Michael’s mom, even though Michael was an asshole and lives with his dad now anyway.

She raises an eyebrow like she knows what he’s thinking.

“Are you thirsty? Do you want a snack?” He knows she’s making fun of him but she says it like it’s something dirty and it’s a second before he can find his voice.

“No.” He doesn’t know how to make this go the way he wants, doesn’t know how to say that he did what she asked, that he’s been wearing her underwear all day and he’s so hard it hurts.

But it’s Lydia, so of course she knows.

She pulls him upstairs to her room and says strip and his hands are shaking as he pulls off his shirt. He hesitates for a moment on the button of his jeans but she’s waiting so he pushes them off and steps out. His dick is dripping and almost purple where it strains against the lace.

“You’ve been so good for me Jackson.” Lydia steps forward, pressing her body against his. “You did just what I asked, didn’t you? Even though it was hard. Even though you wanted to touch yourself all day.” Her fingers are teasing him through the lace and he can’t help it. He cries out like it hurts and she kisses him, hushes him.

“It’s okay, Jackson. I’ll take care of you.” She pushes him backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of him. Her mouth is on him before he even has time to take a breath and any air left in his lungs disappears. She’s wet and tight and so hot. He can hear himself whining pathetically but can’t make himself stop. 

Whenever he imagines her blowing him he always forgets how good it is, how she pins him down and _owns_ him. 

She looks up at him once, red lips stretching wetly around his dick, and he comes helplessly, like she can just pull his orgasm out of him with a look. She licks him until the aftershocks stop and it starts to hurt. 

She carefully pulls the ruined underwear back up over his dick.

“So good for me. So pretty.” She crawls forwards to whisper in his ear until he gets hard again, until she can tease him and use him and break him all over again.

Because nobody touches him like Lydia does. Nobody else owns him.

* * *

**48.**

Stiles would sacrifice himself to save those he loved. It was the first thing he learned about Stiles. The second; when others were over their head and would asked for help, Stiles was willing to go to hell and back just to make sure no one else carried the burden.

Case in point, the reason they were both in this dark motel room that should have been condemned years ago. He rested, back against the questionable wall, watching Stiles being prepped, on the bed, by two women. Stiles may try to take on the world by himself, but at least Stiles had the forethought to ask for help this time, even if his only requirement was someone to watch and make sure the deals went on as agreed. 

Giving a false air of calm, Stiles lay across the bed, hands cuffed in leather restraints, as one of the women, Amber, adjusted the buckles of the strap on dildo to the other.

“Ready for us honey?” Amber cooed in a slickly sweet voice. “Like we agreed, no filming your face. Okay Beth, get him hard for me, while I stretch him for you.”

He watched Beth eagerly work on Stiles, while Amber fucked Stiles with lubed fingers. He was glad the Beth was one of those women that didn't talk while working her mouth around a dick, because Amber had a sailor's mouth and liked to verbally demean men. 

“You like that you little slut, stretched tight on my fingers. Babe, I think he’s ready to be fucked, I want him to be tight around your nice toy cock.”

Amber, clearly a pro at this, used the free time to adjust cameras while Beth moved to her new position. It was obvious that Stiles was not the first person to join in their perverse games. 

“Okay Baby, push in good and deep,” Amber urged, “He should be nice and tight just like a cock whore likes it. 

Beth worked deep into Stiles with a few quick jabs of her toy.

“That's it baby, fuck him like the bitch he is. Make him stretch, make him burn,” Amber coaxed Beth to a faster speed, all while watching for a signal from Stiles features. It only took a few deep thrust before Stiles arched his back, hissing in a deep breath.

“Okay Beth, hold it right there,” Amber picked up a thin metal rod and adding lube to it. 

“Be a good boy and take a deep breath for me. That’s it. Now I’m just going to slide this into your cock,” Amber let the rod fall into the urethra as far as it will go naturally, “Feel that, such a nice pressure. Let see if we can get a little more in.” 

Gradually working the rod farther in, it was slow work getting it to Amber’s desired depth. 

“Oh what a good slut, taking the sound in so deep on your first time. Now for the fun part.”

Amber gave Stile’s cock a slow stroke up watching his reactions, “Good, Beth, I think he needs a good fucking now.”

Pushing forward with all her weight, Beth worked hard thrusting into Stiles. Amber, however, kept her pace at slow strokes.

“Doesn’t take feel so good, feeling the sound rolling with my hand, rubbing on sensitive nerves, making your cock so painfully hard?”

Stiles let out a low whine, bucking back down on the dildo in his ass, giving Amber the sign she was looking for to increase her speed. 

“Fuck yourself good, you little slut, you enjoy it don’t you, the pain yet hitting all the right spots at once. You are close aren’t you? You want to come don’t you?

“Yes.”

“Now, now. Is that how good boys asks for something?”

“Please, can I come.”

“Of course baby boy,” sliding the sound out was the end for Stiles. Back arching pulling on the restraints, Stiles cock erupted, come shooting in the air, landing on his abs and chest. Amber was quick to catch the whole thing on film. 

“Oh Beth isn’t he a thing of beauty? You can have your friend untie you, keep the cuffs. Money well spent. Come babe, you’re got pussy to suck while I edit this.”

“Stiles-“

“No, Isaac we’ve been through this. I make more money in an hour then working a week elsewhere. Plus, it’s for Dad, just until he gets back on his feet, one more month at the most.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

* * *

**49.**

He’s home early from practice and father’s at the station until late, so he decides to use the time to indulge. He grabs his Quotationary and pulls out the silk négligée he keeps inside of its hollowed out pages. The chemise is fragile and soft, and he feels delicate when he pulls it on. 

The fabric is Tiffany blue and came with a matching pair of lacy panties. When he pulls them up and settles into them, stirrings of arousal tingle deep in his groin. He steps back and admires his appearance in the mirror. 

He feels pretty. Desirable. 

He reaches into the back of his nightstand drawer and pulls out a battered pencil case he’s had since the 4th grade. It houses a small collection of cosmetics, acquired a few weeks after his first trip to Jungle. Miss Jenn Herd drove him to a Nordstrom 70 miles away and said, “ _Suga’ plum, if you’re gunna do it, do it right._ ” She helped him select the chemise and even paid for half of his designer make-up (all of which she chose).

He doesn’t know what ‘doing it right’ entails, but he appreciates the sentiment behind it. 

As he carefully applies a coat of mascara and lip gloss, anticipation and excitement coil low in his belly. He’s doesn’t feel ready to attempt eyeliner or foundation yet, but he’ll work his way there eventually. 

Maybe. 

Either way, he likes what the mascara does to his lashes - the way it makes them black and long, makes his eyes large and bright. He looks beautiful like this. Sexy.

His erection throbs, heavy and hot, but he doesn’t touch it. He instead moves his hands down his stomach, savoring the petal-soft silk and wonders how differently he would feel if he had curves instead of straight lines, if he were soft and supple instead of lithe and hard. If breasts filled out the cups of his chemise instead of air. 

He wonders how it would be to slide his hand into his panties and feel slick folds instead of a rigid cock. He imagines his fingers sliding through soft wetness, his body ready and open in an invitation, being filled instead of emptied out.

He moves to his bed, lays back, and spreads his legs open. He slips his hand under his lacy panties, mindful of the fragile lace, and tentatively pushes them down behind his balls. He grabs his lube from the nightstand and squeezes a healthy amount on his palm. When he works the cold wetness up and down his erection, he closes his eyes and imagines it’s his own wetness. He has a clit instead of a cock, and if he slides his fingers down a bit more, he’ll find himself wet and open. 

He imagines Danny finding him like this, soft and beautiful instead of spastic, manic motion. He imagines Derek.

_Derek_. 

He groans picturing Derek’s hands, hot and possessive, holding his legs open to make room for himself. Derek would push in, unyielding, and claim his body; he would write his name in bruises and bites. Derek would rub him, lighting him up from the inside-out as he fucked him raw. 

Derek would lay waste to him.

The sound of skin slapping skin is wet, obscene, and echoing with his pleasure. He squeezes his shaft and rubs the glans, and shudders deeply when he pinches his nipple through lace and silk with his other hand. He thumbs down the dorsal artery as cracks fissure throughout his body and tight pleasure floods him. His fist squeezes and pumps down his shaft; with every grip and twist of his wrist, his body tightens and threatens to break apart, threatens to fracture into something new. He’s shaking, wet, and such a good girl.

_Derek’s girl._

Derek would love him like this, would think he was perfect, pretty, _pristine_. Derek would smudge his lipstick and leave his own marks in its place. Derek would leave him heavy, full, and...

His balls tighten and for one crystalline moment, he’s the most beautiful girl in the world. His toes curl and his fingers claw before he’s sloppy and spent, body crashing back to the mattress from where he’d arched up. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and his panties are filthy with his release. He wonders, briefly, if there’s something wrong with him. He dismisses the thought quickly with a sigh and moves to clean himself up before his dad gets home.

* * *

**50.**

As Allison secures the dildo into the harness, her heart thumps wildly. She takes a deep breath, stepping out of the bathroom into Scott's room.

"That's an awesome cock," Scott says happily. He's fitted against Isaac's back, hands lazily trailing over Isaac's chest. Together in the middle of the bed they keenly watch her, a perfect picture of hotness.

She still can't figure out how she got this lucky.

Her fingers linger over the black leather straps sitting on her hips, dragging over the skin-toned dildo. Her eyes meet Isaac's. "It really is, isn't it?" He picked it out especially for her.

Isaac's head tilts back, Scott kissing his neck. "So," Isaac drawls, "you gonna come fuck me or what?"

She nods, not trusting herself with the right words for what this.

Allison knows how important this is. She's spent a long time trying to gain back everyone's trust. Scott's was harder than she'd originally thought; by the time she was ready, Isaac was in the picture, making Scott move cautiously and giving Allison double the work.

Every hard earned moment was worth it; they fit together better than any of them could've imagined. Not just sex, but in every way that matters. They make each other stronger, but there'd still seemed to be something missing, some boundary not crossed. Trust still to be given.

One night not long ago, Isaac moaned into her ear, "I want you to do this." He was deep in her cunt while Scott fucked him from behind. "Like Scott does. I want all of you. Both of you." She'd groaned and clenched around his cock while Scott declared, "Fucking awesome," and slammed in harder, setting off a chain reaction of orgasms.

Which led them to now.

Scott's lightly manhandling Isaac down to the bed so that Isaac's on his stomach. After they're comfortable, Scott slides two generously-lubed fingers into Isaac's hole, prepping him for the large dildo yet to come.

Allison crawls up onto the bed, pausing to kiss Isaac, then straddles his back to watch Scott, her cock bouncing against one pale, firm ass cheek. Scott stretches Isaac open, eventually dripping more lube over his hole and her fingers. She slides two alongside Scott's. Isaac moans, squirming between her thighs. They move all four in and out, slow at first, then more steady until Isaac's rocking against the mattress, cursing under his breath. 

"Jesus, fucking do it already," he gasps after Scott's shown her how to press against the prostate, sending shudders through his entire body.

"Fine, fine," Scott says, good-naturedly. He kisses Allison, deep and thorough, before moving so she can take position behind Isaac.

Isaac pushes up on all fours, spreading his knees, ass presented to her. "It'll be easier this way."

She agrees, though she wishes she could see his face as she slowly slides her big cock in. It doesn't affect her the same way it would Scott, of course, but she's wet and turned on as she starts to pump in and out. "Is this -- I mean--"

"Good," Isaac gasps as she pushes in harder, trying to find the right pace and pressure. "So fucking good."

"It is," Scott says, sounding winded from watching. "I -- oh, god, I have to--" He moves in front of Isaac, not even having to explain while Isaac opens his mouth, greedily sucking Scott's cock in.

Scott fucks Isaac's mouth while Allison fucks his ass, and it's the most beautiful, hottest thing she's ever seen. Scott clearly thinks the same, holding Isaac's head and thrusting his hips, saying, "You must be so full, so full of us." Isaac's moaning and whining, making noises Allison's never heard from him before, a sheen of sweat across his back. When she reaches around, his dick is hard, and it's only a few strokes before he pulls away from Scott so he can gasp as he comes all over her hand with her cock shoved in as deep as she can get it.

Scott strokes his own dick a couple times before Isaac starts sucking on the cockhead again, making Scott come with a shout.

She can't take it, so turned on by them, her shaky hands trying to unclip the harness after she pulls out of Isaac. Next she knows she's flipped to her back and there are hands and mouths everywhere.

"We'll take care of you," Isaac says, sounding dazed. Scott hums contently in agreement.

She trusts they both will.

* * *

**51.**

**Homecoming**

The leather sits low on Erica's hips, soft and familiar against her skin, cinched a hair too tight just the way she likes it. She runs her hands over her breasts, pinching each nipple to a stiff peak, and savors the moment, her breath quickening in anticipation.

It's been five long months since she left them, five months of playing both sides to defeat the alpha pack, but she's home with her pack now, where she belongs.

The room is hot, air heavy and drenched in the scent of pack and sex. Isaac and Boyd lay side by side, kissing lazily while Boyd strokes Isaac slowly. Erica smiles, knowing she'll be with them soon enough.

"Are you ready?" she asks, stepping up to the bed.

Derek makes a muffled sound in response, face buried in his folded arms. 

She wraps a hand around his hip, pressing the tip of her strap-on against his asshole. He's loose, still wet from Boyd filling him less than an hour before, knees spread wide in invitation. Erica knows she could slide in with one push but she waits. Instead, she presses two fingers inside as deep as they'll go, feeling Derek's heat as he clenches and releases around them.

The sounds he makes are deep, guttural. He's so needy, eager, desperate for it. Wanting this; wanting her. 

She won't make him wait much longer.

Erica pulls her fingers free and strokes her cock, slicking it with the remnants of lube and Boyd's come. The dildo is thick, solid black and bigger than they've used before, a pleasant, heavy weight in her hand. She leans forward, rubbing the length of it against Derek's ass, breasts pressed into his back. Her hair falls in waves around her face as she traces the line of sweat between his shoulder blades with her tongue, nipping at his skin with blunt teeth and watching the indentations fade almost immediately.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

She doesn't wait for an answer, pulling back and dragging her fingers down the bunched muscles of his back. He's too tense. She doesn't want to hurt him; they've all suffered enough.

"You need to relax," she says. After waiting so long, she's impatient too, but she tries to calm him by rubbing circles into his hip with her thumb. Derek takes a deep breath, then another. His shoulders drop as the tension fades away. 

"That's it," she says, lining up her cock and pushing just the head in.

The long moan Derek lets out makes Erica ache with desire to feel the hot stretch of his body around her. She traces the rim of his asshole with her fingertip as she pushes forward, sliding deeper, watching her cock disappear inside him. He's greedy for it, pushing back against her, trying to pull her in.

She holds him still, her too-sharp nails digging lightly into his hip, and pushes forward until her thighs meet the back of his. After a few slow thrusts, she quickly picks up speed, loving the sound of skin slapping against skin. Derek works himself on her cock, settling into a rhythm that matches her own, a low growl building in his chest. Erica spreads him wide and pulls out all the way, watching his hole clench around nothing, then drives back in and fills him up. She does it again and again, wild with the power she has over his body.

Erica throws her head back, grinding her hips into him, the base of her cock rubbing against her clit. The grip she has on his hips is punishing. She reaches out to grab his hair, pulling his neck back and exposing the line of his throat.

"Come on, Derek," she pants. He gets a hand on his cock and he jerks himself off in time with her movements, legs trembling. She doesn't stop, thrusting into him hard and deep, until she feels him shudder, shooting his come across the filthy sheets.

As soon as Erica pulls out, they're on her. Derek flips her over with inhuman speed, fumbling with the buckles of her harness and tossing it to the floor, then burying his face between her legs. Isaac and Boyd reach out for her too, hands and mouths seemingly everywhere.

She gives herself over to it, back arching off the bed, letting them take her apart, knowing they'll be there to put her back together again.

* * *

**52.**

Stiles is asleep by the time Scott climbs through his window. Scott flops down on the bed next to him, flipping on the tube. Some soft-core thing is playing.

Scott glances over but Stiles is out cold and Scott decides not to switch it, even when the girl’s lost her bra and the guy has his hand down her panties. He’s getting hard and he rubs himself through his jeans, one eye on Stiles.

His mouth is hanging open, lower lip glistening. His eyelashes are a dark smudge on his cheek and his breaths are snuffling, soft. He looks effortlessly pornographic. Scott hasn’t looked back up at the couple on screen in too long.

He bites his lip and turns into Stiles's body, jerking himself slow as he reaches out and cups Stiles through his pajamas. He’s half-hard. He pushes into the warmth of Scott's palm with desperate little twitches of his hips. Scott lowers the waistband of Stiles’s pants.

This isn’t totally new to them. Before their sophomore year of high school, they’d gotten off together all the time. Scott’s man enough to admit he sometimes misses it.

Stiles has gotten bigger since they last did this and Scott wonders if they could still—Scott pulls back his foreskin and presses the head of his cock to Stiles's, stifling a moan as his hips jump forward involuntarily. He grips Stiles tight, sees his mobile mouth break open around a gasp.

He rolls his foreskin over Stiles's cock, fitting it under his skin, feeling it twist around the head of his dick with a broken little moan. It's always felt _more_ to him than Stiles. To Stiles it’d always been more about the visual, seeing himself under Scott's skin.

It’s intimate and erotic and _theirs_. Scott has never had anything like this with Allison. He doesn't want this with Isaac. It’s only Stiles he's ever felt this close to.

He’s beautiful like this, sleep-warm and pliant, and the _feel_ of him. It’s too much and Scott wants to make Stiles _come_. He’s so close. Beyond close. And Scott wants to feel it.

Stiles's whole body goes stiff. Something _hot_ explodes under Scott’s skin, wraps around his cock and prickles down his shaft. Scott’s never been so turned on in his life. Stiles’s mouth is slack and wet around broken words. He repeats them while Scott strokes his hair and worries the skin of his jaw between his teeth. "In,” he says. “Want it in—inside."

Scott's dick _throbs_ against the soft warmth of Stiles's stomach and he wants that. He wants Stiles. It slams Scott hard in the chest, robbing him of breath. He caresses Stiles's lower lip with his thumb and wonders how long he’s been in love with his best friend.

He rolls Stiles over and presses two fingers inside him. Stiles whines and eases back into Scott's body. "I can feel you under my skin," Scott whispers. It’s still cooling under his foreskin. A strange part of Scott - the wolf part, wants to hold onto Stiles’s scent that way. He’s going to fuck Stiles with his own come and he’s afraid he’s going to lose it at the _idea of that_ before he gets Stiles loose enough for him.

He works a third finger into him and Stiles gives off a wounded sort of noise. Scott gentles and slows as he stretches him, making soothing noises into Stiles’s neck. He’s barely pulled out before he’s sliding back in with his cock. Running his hand over Stiles's chest and stomach, impaling him on his dick, holding still as he lets Stiles adjust to him.

Stiles is letting out whuffing little breaths, his sleep-heavy body moving with the rhythm of Scott's. Scott thrusts into him, exploring every plane of Stiles's body with his hands. He wants this, not just in this stolen moment, but always.

It doesn't take much before he’s coming inside Stiles, burying himself deep inside his body, marking him as Scott's. And he is. He has to be. Because Scott isn't sure he can live without this now.

He holds Stiles tight around his chest, pulling him back into the protective curve of Scott's body. He drifts on the edge of sleep while Stiles groans and Scott slips out of him with a whine. Stiles snorts and snuffles, rolls over, shoving his head up under Scott's chin. His breath is warm and damp. His lips brush Scott's collarbone. And he says softly, adoringly: 

"Derek."

* * *

**53.**

If there was anything worse than being stuck on an alien planet, hopped up on fucking _alien spores_ and needing release so badly that his entire body hurt, it was this; the sight of Ensign Lahey writhing on a bed in nothing but Derek’s uniform shirt. How was the kid even wearing a shirt? Derek’s skin was so fucking sensitive right now that it physically hurt to have anything on. 

Derek could withstand a lot. He withstood Laura’s smirking, knowing face when she assigned them both to this mission, he withstood the unwarranted jealousy when one of their hosts flirted with Lahey, he could even withstand the fucking _torture_ that was his current state. He could ride this out until it subsided, until whatever they’d given him finally made its way out of his system.

He didn’t think he could withstand this, though. It was obscene, the sight of him wearing Derek’s science blues, the hem stopping right above his erect cock. He was fisting himself roughly, whimpering, and Derek had to stop himself from doing the same; from trying to ease the ache by jerking off to the living fantasy in front of him.

God but Ensign Lahey was beautiful.

He approached the bed even though he’d told himself that he wouldn’t. His shirt completely dwarfed Lahey’s more lithe body and it gave him the appearance of something small, fragile; something that needed taking care of. Derek wanted so badly to take care of him.

As if feeling his presence, Lahey opened his eyes and blinked up at him through hazy eyes, smiling softly.

Derek’s hands clenched at his sides. “How are you wearing that?”

“It’s yours.” Like that was explanation enough, the ridiculous kid. Lahey whined and wriggled, his free hand coming up to catch Derek’s wrist and tug him closer. “Come here.”

He wanted to. “We can’t,” he said instead. “This isn’t real; we don’t want this.”

Lahey made a frustrated noise. “I do. I want you. Please.”

Derek swallowed. He was only so strong and everything about Ensign Lahey seemed tailor-made to weaken him.

“ _Please_.”

Derek’s undoing. 

He crawled onto the bed, between Lahey’s legs, pushing him down to slot their hips together. The contact made him dizzy, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of their skin sliding together, Lahey’s moans in his ear, the way he looked wearing Derek’s fucking shirt.

“Fuck me,” He begged and suddenly Derek couldn’t live a moment longer without doing just that.

A vial of _something_ was pressed into his hands; the same vial that Derek had witnessed one of their hosts giving to Lahey hours earlier. It went against every instinct he had to use something he was unfamiliar with but Derek was half out of his mind and for once he _didn’t care_. He used it to slick himself up and threw it aside, not caring where it landed.

His cock rubbed against Lahey’s hole. “Ensign.”

Lahey shook his head. “Isaac, call me Isaac.”

“ _Isaac_.” Derek shuddered. “Are you sure?”

Isaac huffed and then Derek found himself on his back, Isaac above him. His hands tightened on Isaac’s hips, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt as Isaac sank down on his cock.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Isaac said again.

Derek did. 

It was hard and fast and possibly the best thing Derek had ever experienced; Isaac's warmth around him, his moans filling up the room. He wanted it to last forever, never wanted to know what it was like to live without this fire in his veins, the intense pleasure building at the base of his spine.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Isaac, couldn’t stop smoothing a hand down his chest to feel his body move under the shirt. Derek had wanted this since the first time he set eyes on Isaac, had jerked off to so many fantasies over the years, but nothing compared to this; to Isaac wearing his shirt like Derek _owned_ him.

He came with that thought swimming in his head, groaning as Isaac tightened around him and found his own release. They collapsed on the bed together, exhausted. Derek pushed a hand under the shirt to caress the small of Isaac’s back, gratified when he gave a contented hum, nuzzling at Derek’s throat.

“We’re doing that again,” Isaac mumbled after a few minutes.

Derek just nodded. He wasn’t sure how long this would last but he’d take whatever Isaac let him have; and maybe ruin his shirt more thoroughly in the process.

* * *

**54.**

It had started as a game. Stiles had spent a long time trying to sneak into the bedrooms of assorted werewolves and steal something without them noticing. The difficulty at first had been that there was no reason for his scent to be in anyone's bedroom, so Stiles had spent quite some time working on a spell to camouflage his scent. He'd also spent quite some time finding reasons to get into people's bedrooms and handle their things, though that hadn't gone down too well.

Now, though, he thought he'd move it onto a different level.

It had taken some doing to get into Derek's bedroom at all – Derek hadn't bought any of the excuses he'd come up with to get into the room, and Stiles wasn't at all sure that the spell worked well enough to fool an Alpha, especially not one as suspicious as Derek. Yet he'd managed to get in there, and instead of taking something he'd left something behind. A small, motion-activated camera.

The angle wasn't the best, but Stiles had been treated to the view of Derek stalking into his room, grabbing a some clean clothes from the dresser (coming scarily close to the camera as he did so) and dumping them on a chair before heading for the shower. Stiles hit record and sat, waiting.

When Derek walked back into the room, he had a towel in his hands and was rubbing at his hair. He wasn't quite dry; even with the poor resolution Stiles was getting he could see a drop of water tracing down between Derek's shoulder blades, heading down to the crack of Derek's ass, and holy hell, Derek was completely and totally naked.

Stiles popped the button on his jeans and fumbled to get a hand on his suddenly very hard cock. He didn't bother to free himself from his boxers, just squeezed himself through the fabric as he prayed for Derek to turn around.

His prayers were answered as Derek walked over to the bed and lay down, spreading himself out like a centrefold and giving Stiles an amazing view. Derek wasn't hard, not yet, but he brought one knee up, letting Stiles see absolutely everything. Stiles moaned and pulled his cock out, wishing that he'd thought to get his lube while Derek had been in the shower. On screen, Derek was tracing one hand over his chest, fingers teasing and pulling at his nipples. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, and his cock was getting steadily harder. Stiles had to squeeze the base of his cock to hold himself back. He wasn't ready for this to be over, was NOT going to come before Derek had, even though Derek seemed to be settling in for a proper session. He was now running his hands over his thigh, ignoring his cock, though by this time it was fully hard and Stiles thought (hoped) he could see a bead of pre-come glistening at the tip.

Derek closed his eyes when he finally stroked himself from root to tip. Stiles wished that he'd thought to get a camera with sound, because he bet Derek was moaning now. Derek set a smooth, steady rhythm with a twist at the top and Stiles did his best to mimic it, though he was so close to the edge that he wasn't sure he'd be able to last.

Derek was biting his lip again, left hand still teasing at his nipple as his right sped up, stroking his cock with the rhythm of someone who wants to get off. Stiles sped up too, and just managed to hold out until he saw the first jet of white hit Derek's belly before he came so hard he got come all over the desk.

He stared at the screen, breathing harshly. Derek was sprawled on the bed, still cupping his cock, fingers in the come on his stomach. Stiles sat motionless, watching him. After a few moments that felt like forever, Derek moved. Stiles expected him to reach for the tissues, clean himself up, but instead Derek headed straight for the dresser….and the camera.

Derek picked it up, looking at it with the hint of a smirk on his face. He stared straight into the lens and mouthed:

"When you're eighteen," before turning the camera off.

Stiles took a deep breath, and then another; then moved over to his bed so he could get his lube.

* * *

**55.**

Erica took the parcel from the delivery man, signing on the pad he held out to her. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and she felt hot all over. Thankfully the company was as good as its word and the packaging was plain. She barely heard the delivery man wish her a nice day, she nodded vaguely and shut the door, walking up the stairs to the bedroom. 

She unwrapped the box, which had an elegant, black design, and ripped that open, inhaling the clean silicone smell coming from the box. She been thinking about this ever since she had spoke to Derek about getting it, about using it. She had barely been able to concentrate.

Erica pulled out the harness and dildo, frowning as she figured out how to put them together. Once she got that sorted she stood up, stripping her clothes. She put the harness on, re-arranging it until it felt comfortable, resting against her pelvis nicely. She opened her wardrobe and looked at her reflection in the full length mirror on the door. She wrapped a hand around the dildo – her cock – she thought with a thrill – and gave it a stroke. 

She wanted to use it. To pound into Derek violent and hot, until he broke around her, Alpha pride be damned. She slid her hand down the shaft, pushing it against her clit, grinding slightly until she shuddered, moaning softly. 

“Erica?” Derek appeared at her door and she turned to face him, smirking. Derek’s jaw dropped. 

“Like what you see?” Erica asked, skin flushing hotter under Derek’s gaze. 

“It arrived then,” Derek said. “You want to use it?”

“Yes,” Erica said, voice wavering. “I want to fuck you,” she said, voice stronger this time. 

“Ok,” Derek said. His hand came up to cover hers on her cock, and he slid it up and down, watching her squirm. “Now?”

“Yes,” Erica said, pulling her hand free to push Derek towards the bed. The remains of the packaging got swept to the floor, and Derek shifted back towards the head on the bed.

Eric knelt on the bed, awkward with the heavy weight between her legs. She managed to position herself so she could tug at Derek’s clothes, flinging them across the room. 

Derek was hard, a drop of liquid at the head. Erica leaned down and licked it up, inhaling the deep scent of Derek, strongest here. Derek gasped and lifted his hips. Eric grinned at him. 

“We need something-” Erica started, but Derek shook his head, and grabbed Erica’s hips, pulling her closer until he could lick at her cock, coating it in saliva. 

“Oh, that’s hot,” she groaned. She tugged at Derek’s hair, but he kept sucking at her until her cock was slick and shiny. He lay back down with a filthy grin on his face, and spread his legs. 

Erica’s own legs were shaking as she knelt between his thighs. She used a hand to stabilise her cock and pressed against Derek’s hole. She tried to keep the pressure steady until Derek just _gave_ and she slid in. 

“Fuck,” Derek ground out, back arched. 

“Oh god,” Erica breathed, leaning back until she could see where she was sliding in and out of Derek, cock shiny and slick. She thrust harder, jolting Derek up the bed a bit. 

Derek grunted, curling one hand around his dick, twisting his wrist. Erica felt a burst of pleasure every thrust, cock coming to push against her clit, she wasn’t going to come from this, but it wouldn’t take much more. She kept up thrusting until Derek’s thighs shuddered around her and he came over his contracting stomach muscles. 

“Fuck,” she swore, “fuck.” 

Derek panted, boneless beneath her. She pulled out slowly, steadying herself with a hand on Derek’s hip. Derek groaned as she slid out, and she felt the resistance from his spasming muscles. 

Erica pulled off the harness, trying to restrain herself so she didn’t break the straps. She freed herself eventually and swirled a finger round her clit, groaning at how wet she was. The direct pressure was just right and she slid her other fingers into herself, crying out as she came.

* * *

**56.**

“What would they say, hm?” she murmurs, shoving her small hands in the dip of his back. When his face presses into the mattress, his lip-gloss smears the sheets blush pink, just like her fingernails biting into his thighs over the cut of his lacy stockings. “What would people say if they knew you liked to get fucked? The captain of the lacrosse team likes to get fucked?”

He moans, blinking up at her kneeling behind him with her hands on his waist. Her red curls fall just below her nipples, darkening the shadow between her breasts. She’s wearing her strap-on. The slick dildo juts out between her legs, hot pink because she loves her irony.

The pressure always overwhelms him, making him shake and fist his hands in the sheets, even if it doesn’t hurt. She bought the… equipment from the best online stores, because that’s what she does – wants the best, gets the best. It probably doesn’t matter in the moment, but fuck if he doesn’t want what she wants.

He whispers her name, just once, and she’s pushing in, nails digging into his hips, and then grasping at his shoulders so she can get the proper angle, molding him into what she needs.

He can get off like this, cock pressed into the mattress, or sometimes just hanging there, or constricted in whatever panties she’s put him in until it hurts to feel good. 

And he does. He hurts all over and it’s good. She’s good. She’s fucking him until his legs shake and go. She’s fucking him until he’s coming, crying out and grabbing at her wrists.

“Good girl,” she whispers into the nape of his neck, and then she’s pulling out. She slowly removes the straps, knowing he’s still listening.

She lies down next to him, sliding one hand down her stomach and another over the small of his back.

“Pretty girl,” she says around a grin, and then he’s listening to her arch against the bedspread.

 

**57.**

 

Allison is waiting on the bed when Scott steps out of the bathroom, wet hair clinging to his forehead, hand clutching his towel closed around his hips. She shifts her weight, heart beating a little too fast at her neck and throat. "Hey," she whispers, her smile a nervous stretch of lips, fingers plucking at the comforter since she can't seem to stop moving.

"Hey," Scott whispers back, and he manages a smile too, just as nervous, but there's heat there, which makes it a little easier to breathe. 

She meets him on the edge of the bed, up on her knees, the over large t-shirt brushing at the tops of her thighs as she reaches for him. Her hands catch his hips, fingers curling into the soft warmth of the towel, thumbs stroking the shower damp skin where she can reach. She ducks her head until her forehead rests on his chest, huffing out a breath that's half laugh, "I'm nervous."

"Me too," Scott admits, and his hands are in her hair, drawing her head back so she can see his smile. "But I want to do this."

"So do I." Allison pushes up to steal his mouth in kiss, gets a little lost in the press of lips and tongue, the slick edge of his teeth. She pushes at the towel until there's a soft thump and an endless press of warm skin beneath her hands. Easing back she makes room for him on the bed. The mattress dips as Scott settles onto his back, pillow beneath his hips, a long sprawl of warm muscle that makes her itch to climb on top of him. 

Instead she reaches for the bedside table and grabs the small bottle of lube. Her hands shake and she takes a deep breath to steady herself, aroused and nervous in equal measure. She crawls between his legs, smiling when he bends his knees to make room for her. 

"Okay so, if I do anything you don't like, or if something doesn't feel comfortable, you need to let me know." 

"It'll be fine," Scott says, but he's taking deep breaths too and she can feel it, the nervous energy in the room, and if she were to look carefully she imagines she would see a glimmer of gold in his eyes.

"I'm sure it will be too." She smiles, welcoming her exasperation with him if only so it makes her feel a little more in control, that this isn't as big a deal as they're making it. "Promise that if you don't like something, you'll tell me."

Scott huffs. "Okay, yes, I will tell you." 

Allison nods her head and thumbs open the lube. The small crack as it opens is loud and she has to bite back a grin at how awkward it feels. Not uncomfortable, just unsure, but she's willing to test the waters and see where this will take them. 

Lubing up one finger she braces her hand on Scott's knee, the other carefully trailing down beneath his balls to investigate the small opening. Scott sucks in a surprised breath at the first touch of her finger, and she watches his face as she drags her finger back and forth. She goes slow, casually pressing in a little before going back to circling. 

When she decides to press for more she adds more lube to her finger, her own breath loud in her ears. She presses her finger inside and it's hard to breath with the too warm skin and the hot clench of muscle around the tip of her finger. Scott swallows, eyes closed, and Allison bites her lips, doesn't look away from his face as she wiggles the tip of her finger.

His eyes shoot open and he lets out a half grunt, is unable to keep from shifting his hips.

"Did that hurt?" Allison asks, fingers tight on his knee, ready to pull back if he gives the word. She hopes he doesn't because this is something she thinks she can get addicted to, enjoys seeing Scott splayed out in front of her, cock hard and squirming on her finger.

"No." Scott's voice sounds strangled in his throat and he tries to clear his throat. "No, keep going."

Allison smiles and presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. "Okay."


	8. Group D (No Warnings)

**58.**  


[](http://imgur.com/GoY9IQq)

**59.**  


[](http://imgur.com/SXWQSsR)

**60.**  


[](http://imgur.com/06bbwtr)

**61.**  


**Pegging Stiles**

So when Erica had said she wanted to play Catwoman to his Batman, this wasn’t exactly what Stiles had been expecting. But hey. When in ‘Gotham City’...

Peter, of course, wasn't planning on missing a thing.

[](http://imgur.com/YP9z68j)

**62.**  


[](http://imgur.com/qp4UQUv)


End file.
